


Elf Off The Shelf

by libertyelyot



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: But definitely one for the Thranduilistas, Christmas Crack, F/M, Probably not for the canonical die-hards, Sort of AU but IT COULD HAPPEN, There will doubtless be shagging at some point, in my dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:04:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 78,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libertyelyot/pseuds/libertyelyot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas Eve is a tough time to be working the late shift at Rivendell Garden Centre. But Katie's Christmas is about to take a turn for the decidedly strange...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Elf And Safety

**Author's Note:**

> There actually is a Rivendell Garden Centre, apparently, in Widnes, which inspired this festive little idea. But I'm sure they sell only top-notch Christmas trees, so don't sue me. Please excuse my post BotFA Thranduil intoxication, which just had to be indulged. And happy holidays to you all!

Two hours to go. Two hours until the end of my final shift before Christmas at Rivendell Garden Centre – and then I would be free! For a day. Of course, I would have to be in early on Boxing Day to put big sale stickers on all the tinsel tat. But before that, I had turkey and present-unwrapping and the _Dr Who_ Christmas special all lined up, in no particular order of preference.

In the meantime, the final stragglers at the grotto were snivelling and screaming, overtired and hyped up. They'd have been better off at home with a mug of hot chocolate and _Polar Express_ on DVD, but I wasn't here to have opinions. I was here to earn some money towards next term's university tuition fees. So I kept my mouth fixed in a smile and ushered the little darlings in to where Santa, aka Jeff, awaited them.

"No, not _that_!" Pure pre-school-aged rage roared out from the little wooden hut, making the glittering strips that hung from the top of the door tremble and shimmer. "I _hate_ Peppa! Don't I, mummy? Peppa is my _worst thing ever_."

_Oh dear_ , I thought, grimacing at Jo, over on the gardening supplies counter. She smiled back.

"Elf!" came the voice of Santa, its customary affability somewhat strained. "Go and see if we've got any of those _Frozen_ dolls left, would you? There might be some out the back."

"Ooh, _Frozen_!" The rage seemed to have passed at the prospect of Elsa and the other one whose name I can never remember.

I got up off my wooden toadstool and went to check out the store room, humming along to _Santa Claus is coming to town_ as it blared from the four corners of the building.

It was probably a bit naughty of me to take the long way round, heading out past the ranks of sad Christmas trees that would now never be bought, but I was bored and I felt strangely sorry for the leftovers, with their grey needles and sad drooping tops. Nevergreens, we called them.

I wanted to say a last goodbye to them. "Alas, brave soldiers, felled for naught," I murmured, reaching out to grasp a drying bough. It wasn't even prickly.

Somewhere behind me, out in the potted plants, there was a flash of light. What? Nobody told me there was going to be fireworks.

I wheeled around, to catch the light, already fading to a faint glow, outlining...the figure of a man. A very tall, rather oddly-dressed and extraordinarily striking man.

"Oh! God!" I said, struggling to find breath. "Sorry. I didn't see...er...yeah."

On closer examination, 'extraordinarily striking' could also be interpreted as 'bloody stunning'. I was, as they say, knocked for six and my powers of speech, sense and rational thought fell like dominoes in sequence.

Luckily my ears were still working though, even if they weren't as big or pointy as his.

_Big, pointy ears?_

He let loose a glare icy enough to make the Christmas trees think they were back in their ancestral home in Norway, and spoke.

At first, the thrill of his deep, commanding voice distracted me from the words themselves. It took me a few moments to realise they weren't English. Then a few moments more for me to...

"Oh! _Elvish_!" I cried. "Do you have the dictionary? I got it for my birthday last year. Your costume is _amazing_. Are you Legolas? Where's the party? I love Tolkien, I'd be there like a shot."

I suppose I wasn't coming across as particularly cool in the face of this alarmingly beautiful man, but I was so excited to find a fellow geek right here in the back yard of the garden centre that my self-consciousness was temporarily banished.

"Legolas," he said, seizing on the name as I said it, and widening his eyes.

My Elvish wasn't exactly fluent, but I'd spent an idle summer vacation after A-Levels testing my vocabulary every day, and I decided to try and hold a conversation in it. Perhaps it would end with him inviting me to his party. What an arm to turn up on. The whole room would want to kill me with jealousy.

"Yes," I said, my memory working feverishly. "I think you are Legolas." I wanted to use complex past tenses, but my grammar really wasn't up to it.

"You know my son? How is this?"

He approached me swiftly, towering over me in no time flat.

"Your son? Oh! Thranduil," I corrected myself. "Sorry. Your hair." I reached towards it in explanation, hoping he would understand how I had made my schoolgirl error.

"And you know me?" He was really good at this, very convincing. And his costume was sensational. It must have cost a flipping _fortune_. The acres of robes and the leather and all that.

"I know you," I said, wishing I knew the Sindarin for 'you look exactly the way I imagined you from the book'.

"And yet I do not know you," he replied. "Is this what we are become?"

He looked utterly contemptuous and he waved a hand at me as if to indicate that I was very far beneath him.

"Oh." I realised what he was getting at. He was probably joking. It was OK. My costume was both stupid and hideous, from the green santa hat to the ill-fitting sequinned waistcoat. At least the patches of bright red on my cheeks hid my blushes.

_Typical. The most gorgeous man in the world pitches up, AND he's a Tolkien geek, and this is what you're wearing. Smooth, Katie, real smooth._

"The clothes are not of my choosing," I said, congratulating myself on constructing such a relatively sophisticated sentence.

"Then who bids you wear them? Are we subjugated?"

At least, I think it was 'subjugated'.It made sense, in context.

"Yes," I said, smiling. "We modern elves are enslaved by the Lord Santa."

If he got the joke, he wasn't showing it.

"I know not of this Lord Santa. But to hear that we are slaves..." He broke off, apparently overcome.

"Are you a professional actor?" I asked, curious, but he didn't know what I meant. Probably because I'd said it in English. Maybe he was from Poland or Sweden or somewhere.

"I am cast out of my time," he replied. He seemed to have a knack for random utterances. "I find myself here in a place and time I do not know, and I fear our kind is under threat. I have been sent here to restore it to glory. I see now that this is my purpose. What is this place?"

"Rivendell," I said, and he stared so hard at me my squirm reflex went haywire. "Garden Centre," I added.

"A garden," he said, walking over to the Christmas trees and running an elegant hand over their netting covers. "Even your trees are made prisoner."

"I know. Poor things," I said.

He turned back to me. "What is your bloodline?" he asked.

"My...?"

"Are you Sindar? Silvan? Noldor? And what has become of your ears?"

I had to admit, I was starting to get a bit tired of this game now. Not to mention the brain fatigue from the constant Sindarin translation.

"Look," I said in English again, "I have to get back to work. But thanks for the Elvish chat. It was nice, and if you ever fancy doing it again..."

I had half-turned in the direction of the store room, but I gasped in astonishment as my wrist was gripped tight and I was spun back round to face the stranger.

"You do not turn your back on your king," he rasped.

"No, come on, this is too much," I panted, fearful now. However good-looking he was, he was very much taller than me and clearly had the strength to match. If he tightened his grasp by much more, he would crack my bones.

"I am Thranduil, the Elven-king of Mirkwood," he proclaimed. "Who are you to defy me?"

"Katie, the...Elven-Queen of Rivendell Garden Centre. Get off me, for God's sake!"

"You would invoke the deities against me?" He shook my arm in ire, but loosened his hold on me, to my considerable relief. "You speak treason, elleth. But perhaps it is pardonable. You are not of my place or time."

_And you need sectioning_ , I thought, looking at him sourly.

"In my place and time," I said, keeping my tone as measured as my panic would allow, "men do not touch women they do not know."

"I am not a man. I am a king. Lead me to your Lord Santa. I would have speech with him."

"Oh, I don't think..."

But he had raised his hand again and I thought perhaps it might be best to get him inside where I wouldn't be alone. But at the raising of his hand, something incredibly weird and frightening happened to his face. I watched, transfixed with horror, as his right cheek hollowed and flames bloomed all the way up to his brow, while his eye turned milky and sightless, its intense blue faded and lost.

"What?" I whispered, when the ravaged skin was pure and pearly once more. "What was that?"

"Dragonfire wound," he said. "It comes upon me when my ire is raised. So do not raise it further and lead me to your Lord."

So...was he _real_ , then?

Or had I finally lost my marbles?

Some might say it had been a long time coming.

"Follow me," I whispered.

At the grotto, a scene of miserable chaos was in progress. The Peppa-hater was refusing to relinquish her spot on Santa's knee until she received her replacement; meanwhile the tail-end of the queue was contemplating anarchy, dads looking pointedly at their watches, mums sighing and staring at the ceiling decorations in mock-despair, kids barrelling around the Festive Village and knocking Victorian snow scenes flying.

"Katie," hissed Jo sharply as I led Thranduil or whoever he was past the gardening supplies. "Don't you have the toy?"

"The...oh!" I looked down at my empty hands. "The toy. Yes. Hang on. Can you just...look after this customer for me a minute?"

I darted off before Thranduil could register what was going on, uttering silent apologies to Jo, who certainly didn't speak a word of Elvish but would probably think he was a Pole. The Elven-king would just have to come off his high horse and deal with the twenty first century for a while. Or maybe it wasn't a high horse. Wasn't it an elk? It would have to be a bloody high horse anyway, to fit those long legs on either side of its flanks. And surely I was delirious, to be thinking this nonsense at a time of such crisis.

I escaped into the store room, sat down hard on a box of secateurs and took a series of deep and much-needed breaths. How many fingers was I holding up? If I slapped my face would I feel it? (Yes) Was I hallucinating? No. The same boxes of Cath Kidston kneelers and Dorling Kindersley books stood four square against the opposite wall. I wasn't seeing giant spiders or snakes or anything like that.

And there were no Elven dreamboats either.

So, what the fuck was going on?

It was my overactive imagination. It hadn't happened. I was going to get the Frozen doll and walk back calmly to the grotto and send in the last few children and go home for a mug of mulled wine and a mince pie.

Yes.

Good.

I picked up the doll – one of only two remaining – and set off with my chin high and my shoulders back.

As soon as I set foot out of the store room I was nearly knocked off my feet by Bill the security guard, charging towards the grotto.

Oh God.

"Bill, what's up?"

"Some nutter's trying to attack Jeff," he called over his shoulder, skittering away through an avenue of nesting boxes.

"Fuckety fuck," I muttered, breaking into a run at his heels.

Screams came from the direction of the grotto. One little boy of about six leapt up and down and yelling, "Cool!" Looking over his shoulder, I saw the object of his admiration – a glinting, deadly sword of Elven steel, levelled at the door of the grotto, in the firm pale hand of Thranduil.

Bill stood back, his hands up.

"Steady on, mate," he said. "Shit. I never did that course on hostage negotiation. But you can't have a go at Santa! It's not on. It's Christmas, mate. Think of the children."

Thranduil replied in a stream of incomprehensible utterances – incomprehensible to everyone but me, anyway.

"Out, you dog, and face me," he proclaimed in ringing tones, while the parents steered their children swiftly towards the exit. "You dare to enslave my kind and dress them as fools? You clip their ears and crush their noble spirits. Well, I will tell you that your wicked rule is at an end. I am here to free my people."

"That's it, I'm calling the police," said Bill.

"No," I said, breaking from the cover of the scented candle section. "It's OK. I'll deal with this. He's my...cousin."

Thranduil cast his glance in my direction and I shivered. Fire in ice. I couldn't have said what compelled me to want to help him, but something did, and it was powerful.

"My elleth," he said. "Do you fear freedom?"

"No," I said. "But I think Lord Santa will be happy to grant it. If you let me speak to him. Please...put the sword away."

Thranduil stood firm for a moment, his eyes still fixed on me.

"Please?"

He replaced the sword in the scabbard and gestured towards the grotto, permitting me to commence my negotiations.

I joined him by the wooden toadstools while Jo and a clutch of others who had chosen rubbernecking over flight gawped on.

"Er...Jeff," I said. "I've got the doll. Do you want to give it to the child and then she can go?"

Jeff peeked out from the glitter strips, his face as red as his Santa hat, perspiration pouring from beneath his white wig. He eyed Thranduil with obvious terror, then looked at me.

"Katie, do you know this geezer?" he whispered.

"Just...take the toy and let the kid go," I whispered back. "It'll be OK, I promise."

Jeff took the box in trembling fingers and retreated inside the grotto.

"But I've already _got_ an Elsa," shouted the child. "You're not Santa! You're supposed to _know_."

"Come on, Edie," said a woman's voice. "We'll come back on Boxing Day and swap it for something else, yes?"

"Something _good_."

"Yes, something good."

The mother and child emerged from the grotto, the child carelessly dropping the doll on the floor by Thranduil's feet as she passed.

"Who's that man?" she demanded as her mother yanked her away. "Is he an angel?"

_I think not_.

Jeff came out of the grotto, pulling off his hat and wig and displaying all the signs of approaching cardiac arrest.

"Santa," I said, in Elvish for Thranduil's benefit. "Free the elves from your tyranny and restore to us our, er, dignity." I added, to Jeff, "Just nod and say yes, yeah?"

Jeff shook his head at first, in disbelief, but when Thranduil's hand returned to the pommel of his sword he nodded vigorously and said, "Yes, yes, yes. Yes. Yes. Go. Fuck off, elves."

I turned to Thranduil. "There you go then," I said. "Elves are free. Santa loses. We win. Shall we, er, get out of here?"

Bill was muttering into a mobile phone and I had a funny feeling that flashing blue lights and sirens might be the upshot.

"Where can we go?" he asked. "Now that you are free, do you have a dwelling place?"

"I'm sure I'll think of something," I said, apologising in a general sort of way as I ploughed through the still-gawping crowd with Thranduil at my side. "He's my cousin. He's from...Finland. Sorry. He gets a bit excited sometimes. He hasn't taken his medication today."

"I can't believe you speak Finnish," said Jo as I passed her.

Of all the things to find unbelievable about this scenario, it struck me as an odd one, but I didn't have time to ponder it.

I raced to the staff room, seized my bag and hotfooted it out of the building without changing back into mufti. My shift wasn't even over yet, but I had the feeling Rivendell Garden Centre and I had parted company for good and all.

As I sprinted across the car park, Thranduil strode behind me, effortlessly keeping pace without having to break into a run.

"Be still, elleth," he commanded, and for some reason, I stopped.

He looked down at me, his arms folded across his robed chest, his entire demeanour impossible to describe as anything other than 'kingly as fuck'. Returning his gaze, I wondered how I could have spent so long thinking he was some cos-playing student. There was such an aura of other-worldliness and authority about him that it seemed impossible to believe he was anything other than Elven king.

"You can call me Katie," I said.

"The name is too foreign," he said, which was pretty rich coming from somebody called Thranduil. "Tell me, what are these?" He indicated the cars that were circling the car park and beeping angrily at each other in their haste to get away from the Elven king.

"They are a manner of steed," I said. "You will find our world as foreign as my name." Wow, excellent sentence construction. Talking to Thranduil was like an immersion course in high-level Elvish. Perhaps I could change my degree course next term.

"Can you not return to your world?"

His piercing eyes misted over. "I fear it cannot be so," he said regretfully. "This world must be my home until I am called back."

"Called back? By whom?"

"By he who has banished me."

"Do you think he'll call soon?"

Thranduil bowed his head, his startlingly dark eyebrows knotting together. His eyes met mine and I saw endless ages of sorrow and wounded pride. "I cannot tell," he said.

"Alas," I said, at a loss for words.

In the distance, sirens tootled.

"Right," I said, feeling that an executive decision was in order. "You. Me. Pub. Now."

 


	2. Public Elf Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all readers, kudos-bestowers and, especially, commenters. I'm taking Thranduil to the pub now...after all, if he's intoxicating me, it's only fair to return the favour ;).

"I am a king. I do not carouse in taverns."

"Times have changed," I said through gritted teeth, hustling him into the market square and seeking out the corner on which my favourite quiet pub stood. Quiet was probably best, in the circumstances. "Kings love carousing in taverns these days."

Really, was he going to be this difficult about everything? Whoever it was that had banished Thranduil owed me compensation for mental distress. I'd be on to Injury Lawyers 4U first thing after Christmas.

He had stopped dead, apparently fascinated by the giant Christmas tree standing within its railings in the centre of the square. Beneath it, members of the rotary club choir were singing carols.

"Such light. And music," he breathed, apparently transfixed.

"Yes, pretty, isn't it?" I said, looking uneasily around to make sure nobody was too interested in my new friend. "Come on, I need that drink."

"But how is it that you are able to make such colour? Are these some new breed of firefly?"

"Fairylights. We harness the, uh, Earth's resources to make power. Light. You know."

"Such magic as has not been dreamt of in my realms," said Thranduil. "You will teach me how to make this light and I will take the knowledge back to Mirkwood."

"Well, I'd love to, but I'm more a humanities than a sciences type of girl, really." I put a hand on his arm, trying to chivvy him on, but with lightning speed he clapped his hand on mine and removed it, frowning darkly. 

Obviously touching a king wasn't on either.

"Your music is sweet, but the voices do not compare with our Elven singers," he remarked, unnecessarily loudly, given that we were walking right past the choir at that point.

"Well, elves are famed for their music, after all," I said. "And these are not professional singers. They're doing it for fun. For Christmas."

"What is Christmas?"

"Ah, after your time. A festival, celebrating the birth of a great man. Do you have a big winter festival?"

He nodded. "At the time of the darkening days, we have a festival of light."

"This is similar. An amalgam of pagan and Christian traditions really. Oh, you're going to ask about pagans and Christians. Can we please just get indoors first?"

At last, we had reached the corner door of the Market House. In a neighbourhood of big, bright, smart chain bars, it was one of the few traditional spit and sawdust pubs still clinging to life. It was hearteningly clear of people decked in suits and heels and contained the usual collection of bearded types thirsting for Real Ale. To be honest, Thranduil was among the less eccentrically dressed of the punters.

"So, what do kings drink?" I asked, finding a snug corner booth and racking my brains to remember what that mead-like cordial that had been mentioned in the books was called. Actually, if it was mead he liked, this was probably the one place in town you could get a pint of it.

"Low taverns such as these serve only ale and rough wine," he said, his nose in the air as he surveyed his surroundings.

"Oh, no, you can have spirits too."

"'Spirits!" The stare he levelled at me contained a trace of fear.

"No, I mean, it's just a kind of drink here. You can take them with fruit juices or..."

"I cannot allow such a thing to pass my lips."

"OK, well, mulled wine, then? It's what people drink at Christmas."

"I will respect your lore," he said, inclining his head with gracious elegance.

Mulled wine it was, then.

Heading up to the bar, I was both appalled and heartened. Appalled because I caught sight of myself in the mirror beneath the optics and remembered that I hadn't stopped to take off the elf uniform. Heartened because a group of studenty guys dressed as Marvel superheroes had turned up, which would surely deflect attention from me and Thranduil.

All the same, a quick duck into the ladies' loos was in order before I had to speak to another mortal. I was in no mood for elf jokes.

I took a moment to see what Thranduil saw. A horribly-dressed, rather panic-stricken person with bright red cheeks and clashing orange hair. And freckles. I was willing to bet elves didn't have freckles and probably didn't approve of them on other people either.

Then I laughed at myself, wondering why the hell it mattered. As if somebody like Thranduil could possibly be interested in a dork like me. And it was, of course, much better that he wasn't. Anything else could only lead to a nightmarish complex of complications.

"It's all right to fancy the man," I said to myself. "It proves you have a pulse. Just keep a hold on yourself."

I retired into a stall and made quick work of shedding the costume and putting on my skinny jeans and oversize plaid shirt. Now at least I looked normal.

Not that Thranduil seemed to concur with this opinion when I returned to the table with the mulled wines.

"You display a great deal of your legs," he commented disapprovingly. "Is this the new way?"

"Yes," I said, putting the drinks down and sliding into the booth beside him. God, he was a distracting presence to be so close to. I couldn't help feeling as if he radiated something; something that touched me. It made me incredibly nervous and slightly prone to perspiration. He smelled bloody lovely as well, in a way that filled up my brain and made everything turn into little sparkles. 

Dear lord, I needed that wine.

"And your face is changed," he continued, studying me intently. He was going to have to stop that, or it would be back to the scarlet cheek circles. "These stains of colour are gone...what did they signify?"

"They were the mark of Santa's tyranny," I improvised. _Please don't look at me like that_. 

"And your hair is red. What is your lineage? You did not answer me when I asked before."

"The thing is, I..." I hesitated. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I was a human, but something prevented me. Thranduil was quite alone here and I couldn't account for the effect the knowledge of his utter isolation among men might have upon him. It didn't seem kind, somehow. "I don't really know," I finished. "Lines of descent have become so hard to trace. We have all mixed and become one bloodline."

"Truly?" Thranduil was either horrified or impressed; I couldn't tell which. "When there was so much dissension between us?"

"Oh, but that was so long ago now, Thranduil."

At my use of his given name, he tossed his mane of white-blond hair.

"Er, my lord, I mean," I said quickly. "So long ago it is beyond memory."

The words sobered him and he looked bleakly into his wine glass.

"I wonder if I shall ever see my realm again," he said. "My realm, my time, my son."

"It must be hard for you," I whispered. "But I will do all I can to help you."

The way he whipped his neck through 45 degrees and loomed over me was almost serpentine.

"I do not see how you can help me," he said, rather rudely, I thought, given everything I'd done for him so far. "You, some cross-breed with blood so diluted you do not even have our ears any more. I will bring this dire warning back to Mirkwood with me, when I return. Our power must be preserved, our kind kept pure, for I have seen what we will become."

"Well, thanks a bunch," I blurted, my eyes blurring with tears. "Sort yourself out then. And Merry Christmas."

I got up and stumbled away, knocking into Wolverine so that his pint spilled on my top as I went.

"Watch out," he called after me, but I wasn't watching out and I didn't care. 

I stepped into the cold, clear night and took a shuddering breath. Nobody would blame me if I left the arrogant git to it, would they? He wasn't my responsibility.

Some shouts and the blast of party poppers from the big chain bar opposite distracted me for a moment, and made me recall the time I'd been dragged there by friends on my A-Level course. I had felt such a fish out of water, flapping my gills in a fug of strong perfume and alcopop fumes.

And if I'd felt out of my depth in Yates' Wine Lodge, how many times would I have to multiply that feeling to understand what Thranduil was experiencing, here and now?

Hell fire. My conscience wasn't going to let me leave him. But I could let him sweat for a minute or two.

I took out my phone to call my parents and let them know I was running a little late.

"Hey, ginge – need mopping up?" It was Wolverine, with a bar towel in hand.

"Er, no, I'm OK," I said, frowning, then I cried out and tried to jump away as he shoved the towel on to my chest in a clumsy attempt to pretend he wasn't trying to grope me.

"What's wrong?" he slurred. "S'Christmas Eve. Come under the mistletoe, go on, just a quick one."

"Get off me!" It seemed to be the night for trying to elude the grasps of strange men.

Wolverine, slobbering unintelligibly, tried to drag me away from the pub entrance and down a side-alley full of beer kegs.

I considered screaming, but I had only just managed to fill my lungs when somebody spoke behind us.

In Elvish.

"Take your hands from her!" I think that was what he said, anyway. My translation skills were running a poor second to my self-preservation instincts at that point.

Wolverine, obviously confused by the strange language, turned to see who was speaking it. He dropped me, agog at Thranduil's impressive, unorthodox appearance.

"Sorry, mate," he mumbled. "Didn't realise...you should've said you had a boyfriend."

I wanted to kick him in the head for his idiotic reproach, but violence probably wasn't a good idea, so I let him retreat into the pub, still muttering apologies and looking totally overawed as he passed Thranduil.

I raised my countenance to meet grave eyes.

I was going to have to thank him now, damn him.

But, face-savingly, he spoke first.

"You will forgive me," he said. It wasn't exactly an apology or a plea, but it sounded promising. I waited for him to continue. "This day has taxed me. I spoke in haste and my words were ungracious."

"Oh, don't worry about it," I said, tongue-tied by the force of his unblinking attention.

"A lapse in courtesy must always be my concern," he replied with gentle reproach. "It ill-becomes a king."

I had an inkling that this pretty speech might be no more than self-seeking appeasement, but really, I was too tired and emotional to care now. My plan was to stay on good terms with him for long enough to get him to a place of safety for the night, then leave him to it and enjoy what was left of Christmas.

"Right," I said. "So shall we finish our drinks then?"

Wolverine gave us the widest of wide berths as we crossed the bar to our booth again. I couldn't help watching the way Thranduil seated himself from the corner of my eye – it was ridiculously elegant. He seemed irritated with the table, though, which was slightly too low-set for his long legs. He kept stretching them out, then bending them a little, his knee-length boots creaking slightly with each movement.

"What is this wood?" he said, running the tip of a finger over the beer-ringed varnish.

"Oh, I don't know," I said. "Whatever's cheapest, I suppose."

"You elves of this age have so far forgotten yourselves as to know nothing of wood?" Thranduil gave me a look of shrivel-inducing severity.

"I suppose so. It's all synthetics now. We still use wood though. I made a pencil box at school once."

I might have known this wouldn't impress him.

"Your world is ugly," he said. "There is no harmony to it. It is difficult to behold, and there are too many corners and straight edges. It offends my eye."

"Yes, well, the sooner you're back in Middle-Earth, the better, then, eh?" I think he noted the slight bitterness in my tone, for his own voice softened.

"What is this age, in number?" he asked. 

"In number?"

"Yes. I left the Third Age when I was banished here. What age is this? The Tenth Age? The Twentieth?"

"The twenty-first," I said, thinking that I might as well pretend centuries were ages. He was hardly going to know any different.

"The Twenty-First Age. What a wonder, to see it, when I should be long in Valinor."

"Yes, there are many wonders. You should give it a chance. I mean, it's not perfect, but there are things here you might learn to like."

The long look this earned me gave me the most peculiar fluttering feeling. It only got worse when he said, with slow consideration, "Yes, I may well do," never once removing his eyes from me.

If this was an example of Elf flirtation, it needed to be rolled out to humankind. It _worked_. I could think of absolutely nothing to say in response. In fact, I might have been on the verge of gibbering.

I was saved by the bell, or rather, the jingling of a festively-themed headband, attached to Jo, who had pitched up at the bar and noticed us together.

"Oh God," I muttered. "Excuse me. I won't be a moment."

She was beckoning me frantically.

"Oh my God, I've been so worried about you!" she blurted, once I was within earshot of her. "You just disappeared with that maniac. Are you OK?"

I turned to see what Thranduil was doing. He seemed happy enough, drinking deep of his mulled wine.

"Oh my _God_ ," she trilled again. "You're actually with him. Oh my God, are you OK? Has he tried to kill anyone else?"

"No! Jesus, Jo, calm down. He's fine. He's, er, taken his medication, so there's no need to panic, OK?"

"That sword, though!"

"It was just, uh, his idea of a joke. Not a funny one, I know. It wasn't a real sword, obviously. Just a role-play type of thing."

"Ah." She gave me a sudden vivid look. "He's not your cousin, is he? You told me your cousins lived in London. You never mentioned a Finnish one."

"Well, no, he isn't my cousin, he's, er..."

"Oh my God, are you seeing him? Is he your boyfriend? Where did you meet him? Does he go to your university?"

It was very helpful of her to feed me all these plausible explanations. All I had to do was nod and look slightly shifty.

"We met at an RPG group," I said, inspired.

"Oh, that makes so much sense! You're into all that dungeons and dragons stuff, yeah? And so is he?"

"Big time," I said. "We even speak Elvish to each other. We pretend we're characters from Lord of the Rings."

"That's so...sweet," she said, though I know she really meant 'weird'. She lowered her voice, nudging me. "I have to admit, he's fit."

"Yes, he's...not bad."

" _Not bad_? I don't know how you do it, K. I'd make him cut his hair, though. Hate long hair on men."

"Yes, well..." I said, a brainwave coursing through me so fast it nearly knocked me off my feet. "So does my dad."

"Does he? Aww. Doesn't he approve?"

"No. Listen, the thing is...oh, no, it's nothing. I can't ask you."

This was guaranteed Jo-bait. She fell for this kind of thing regularly.

"What? Why can't you ask me? We're mates; you can ask me anything."

"No, it's too cheeky. We'll just have to find another way..."

"Katie, for God's sake. I'm hurt to think you can't ask me anything. I owe you one, anyway, after you covered that shift for me last week."

"Oh yes." I'd forgotten about that. Excellent! "So I did."

"So, come on? How can auntie Jo help the course of true love?"

"Well..." I said. "You're staying at your mum's for Christmas, aren't you?"

"Yes, I told you that."

"And so am I. But I have to stay there alone, if you catch my drift. They won't let _him_ over the threshold." I wondered if I'd be able to get all the way through the conversation without using his name. I really didn't want to tell her his name. "So, after travelling up all this way on the last train, he's a bit stuck for somewhere to spend the night..."

"Oh," said Jo, a few understandable misgivings clouding over the mask of helpful and friendly resolve she had been wearing. "Right. I see."

"He's very clean," I said. "And he won't touch anything of yours. Won't even turn on your TV." _He wouldn't know how to_.

"Yeah, but..." Her brow suddenly lightened. "Ah, go on. It's Christmas." She reached into her bag and fished out a bunch of keys. "He's not to get his sword out though." She thought about what she'd said and broke into ribald laughter. "Or if he does – change the sheets for me, yeah?"

She winked and rejoined the group of old schoolmates she'd arrived with.

I kissed the keys, uttered a silent prayer to Eru Ilúvatar, and returned to my Elven-king.

"Have you finished your drink? I have found a place for you to stay tonight."

"This wine pleases me very much," he said, and his mood certainly seemed to have improved, his flawless skin glowing at me. "I desire more of it."

"Well, I'll get a bottle for the road," I said. "And we can drink to the season."

"I should like that," he purred, unfolding his endless legs and standing very close to me indeed. "I should like it very much."


	3. Your Very Good Elf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, Thranduil likes his wine!

Clear evidence of the discombobulating effect Thranduil was having on me could be gleaned from the fact that I bought a bottle of wine from behind the bar – something I had hitherto assumed only happened in soap operas.

My eyes watered a little as I was quoted the exorbitant price, but I could at least soothe myself with the knowledge that I would not have to display my Elven-king to the desperate wretches in Asda. Mind you, anybody leaving their last minute shopping till this hour on Christmas Eve probably had too much on their mind to give any mysterious, attractive, pointy-eared men a second glance.

Shoving the bottle into my bag and turning to leave, I found that Thranduil was being entertained by Jo and her current squeeze, who had discovered a sprig of mistletoe over the door and were taking full advantage of it. Around them, their friends cheered them on.

"Why do they make such sport in public?" Thranduil wanted to know. "Are they intoxicated?"

"Probably," I said. "But it's a Christmas custom that people are supposed to kiss under mistletoe."

"Is it so?" He looked at me, an eyebrow raised.

Jo and her man broke up, laughing, and rejoined the group, leaving the coast clear for us to leave. 

I thought it best to try and ignore the mistletoe issue, keeping my head down as I marched for the door ahead of Thranduil, but Jo called out to us as we passed.

"Oh, go on, give her a kiss."

Hot and cold all over, I praised the Great One for Thranduil's non-existent English, assuming he would take no notice of the slightly inebriated words of encouragement flying in his direction.

I was nearly there, nearly at the door, nearly through the door, nearly out of there...

A hand landed on my shoulder. From the rings on it, I could only suppose it was Thranduil's. I twisted my neck to look up at him. He raised his eyes to the mistletoe above us.

"Your custom," he said.

"Oh...it's..."

"One must observe custom," he murmured, his fingers now lingering beneath my jaw, tilting my face to his.

His touch was light as a whisper, but I was utterly immobilised by it, unable to move my face away or take a step aside. Everything I had been trying so hard to ignore, from his majestic demeanour to his soul-deep eyes, was far too close to me now. So close it was upon me, and I was in it, caught like a fly in a web.

It wasn't even a full-on snog. It was a sweet and gentle thing, a taste of lips that was over too quickly, but the effect it had on me was honestly quite frightening. For the brief moment it lasted, I felt as if I was falling, through the tacky floor of the pub, into a place both dark and soft, like black velvet. Just as I thought I would fall through the lightless void forever, stars bloomed everywhere, dazzling me. And there were words in my head, echoing around, Elvish words that I was too stupid with the dizziness of it all to understand at the time, but as he drew away from me I was able to translate them.

_This is a promise of what is to come_.

His breath warmed my skin for a moment, his face still close to mine. I thought he was going to kiss me again, but instead he brushed some hair away from my eye and bestowed something I thought might have been a smile on me.

"There," he said, sounding extremely pleased with himself. "Custom is observed."

He strode off, pushing the door open and letting the first blast of winter snow in.

For a second or two, I wasn't quite sure I could walk straight. And where had my breath gone? I found it all at once, rolled up into a helpless little whimper.

"You go, girl!" suggested Jo behind me.

Yes. This was advice I should take. And, just in case I was in any doubt, Thranduil came back through the door, looking impatient.

"Why do you linger here?" he said. 

He took my elbow and made my feet find themselves once more, tripping after him into the snow.

"Did you...say something...to me in there?" I faltered, trying to pull on my coat one-handed.

"I said many things," he replied, but the look on his face was sly, knowing.

"I mean, just now? Just before..."

He laughed and I gave up. It had been my mind, playing tricks on me. Maybe I was sickening for something? There had been a fluey thing going around at work, come to think of it. I put my free hand to my forehead, but the snow made it difficult to take a temperature reading.

"Tell me, elleth," he said, as I wandered along a back street looking for the semi-hidden courtyard that housed Jo's apartment block. "Where can I find more of our kind?"

"More elves?"

He bowed his head with impassive countenance, as if trying to hide obvious impatience.

"Oh, well, there aren't many at all. Not in this part of the world anyway. If you went to the North Pole you might find a few."

"The North Pole? Is it far from here?"

"Very far. You'd have to fly."

"Fly?" He stopped and stared at me. The snow was melting on his dark brows and eyelashes. He was so beautiful there surely had to be a law against it.

"Oh, we have flying machines now. But it would still take a long time to get there. Days."

"So, other than you and I, there are no elves in this place? How came you here?"

I flapped a hand vaguely. "Oh, you know. Lord Santa. Ah. Here we are."

The narrow entrance leading to Jo's flat deflected any more queries along those dangerous lines. The less said about my elfhood, the better.

Fitting the key into the lock of Jo's first floor flat, I was struck by the inadvisability of what I was doing. Obviously I hadn't absorbed any of those warnings about stranger danger. And if you were to make a Venn diagram of strangeness and danger, this man would be slap bang in the middle of the overlapping bit.

But I had this odd feeling, on top of the nervousness, that nothing bad could happen to me while I was with him. Where had that come from? It didn't make sense.

"Here we are," I said, ushering him into Jo's tiny pad. It was barely a flat really – more a kind of studio with a sofa, a kitchen corner and a curtained archway beyond which was her bed. A minuscule bathroom could be found off the minuscule entrance hall. The view outside was of a bin shelter and a blank brick wall.

The grand Mirkwood Halls of Thranduil it was not.

"Do you live in these hutches?" sneered Thranduil, taking in everything from the dead pot plant to the storage boxes stacked wherever they would fit.

"I'm afraid we do. The population has exploded since your age. Won't you take a seat? I'll see to the wine."

"Ah, yes. The wine," said Thranduil, and I wondered why this seemed to amuse him as I watched his lips curl upwards again.

It was probably just my gathering fever speaking, but I was beginning to get the impression that things might get a bit frisky around here. And what if they did? Would that be such a terrible thing? I mean, the chances of me getting a man like him into bed under normal circumstances were low indeed – _were_ there even any other men like him in the world? Why not just seize the day and let the next one take care of itself?

I turned away from him so he wouldn't see me biting my lip at the mad excitement of the idea and found Jo's wine glasses in a high cupboard.

Hadn't I earned a nice Christmas present this year after all my thankless hard work? Well?

I offered him the wine, and he took a sip, his eyes fixed on me over the rim of the glass.

But he frowned after swallowing and held the glass out to me again.

"This is not the same wine we were drinking," he complained. 

"Oh – well – no. That was mulled wine. This is just merlot."

"Your mulled wine contained spices. And, if I'm not mistaken...cloves?" He gave me such a come-hither look on the word 'cloves' that I nearly dropped the glass. 

Fuck me. This was really _on_. Though I wasn't sure what the cloves had to do with it.

"Oh, yeah, I think there are cloves in it. I've never made it myself, so..."

"Perhaps you could try? If you really want to, that is?"

"Oh. OK."

This was weird. Why would I want to make unnecessary work for myself? But probably not as weird as everything else about this Christmas Eve, so I took the bottle, poured it into a saucepan and set about looking for Jo's collection of herbs and spices.

Cloves, yes. Ground cinnamon. What else went into mulled wine? I grimaced at a jar of oregano and almost put a pinch in, but thought better of it at the last moment.

There was something else I was thinking better of too. With a sickening lurch, I recalled the existence of Legolas. And if Legolas had a father, surely he had a mother too? No matter how super-duper-sexy Thranduil might be, I wasn't about to go messing with a married elf.

I gave him a severe look. He wasn't the only person around here with a talent for them. Though his were significantly higher-voltage than mine, to be honest.

"When you were banished," I started, but he waved a hand.

"It will be impossible to explain to you. Much too long a story," he said dismissively.

"No, I'm not asking for the story. I just wondered...if they banished a king, did they also banish his queen?"

This was the meaning of 'bated breath'. His eyes lingered on me, then he shook his head.

"My queen is dead," he said quietly.

"Oh." 

So now I got to feel like a horrible human being for wanting him to be single. Damn. And poor Thranduil, to have lost his Elven-queen and the mother of the prince.

"I'm so sorry," I said, flushing hotter than Venus. 

"You need not be," he said. "It happened millennia ago. I am one with it."

"All the same...anyway," I said awkwardly.

"Your sentiment is appreciated," he said, picking up a copy of _Vogue_ from the coffee table and apparently finding it quite interesting.

I returned to my saucepan of wine, covering my dismay by slicing a lemon and letting it float on top. Well, it certainly smelled like mulled wine.

Music, that was what we needed. What would Thranduil like? I had an album of misty Celtic folksy stuff somewhere on my iPod...I put it into Jo's docking station, next to the kettle, and looked for the song with the harp.

"You like music, of course?" I said as the first golden notes were plucked.

He nodded expansively.

"Of all the arts, it is my favourite," he said. "In my youth, I played the harp myself, though it has been many years..."

"I bet you could pick it up again," I said. "It's like riding a bicycle, I expect. Uh, no. Not riding a bicycle. You don't have them, do you? Falling off a log, then?"

"I do not understand the comparison you make. This new age is mysterious to me indeed. But some things have not changed. For example, clove wine. Is it ready?"

Was Thranduil some kind of problem drinker or something? He certainly seemed keen on his wine. I poured the stuff out, taking care not to splash Jo's kitchen counter, and handed Thranduil his glass back.

He inhaled deep of the liquid's vapours, appreciation evident in his half-closed eyes.

"Ah yes," he breathed, his voice so low I had to distract myself from how terribly erotic I was finding it all by turning on the lights on Jo's little silver Christmas tree.

"How is it done?" He put down his glass and came to look closer, fascinated by the twinkling. "How have you brought the stars into your cramped little dwellings?"

He reached out to touch them, but drew his hand away at the last minute, as if fearful of what might befall. I seemed to recollect from my reading that Thranduil was a great admirer of all things sparkly. It made sense, even if I was a little miffed that the fairylights seemed to enthral him a great deal more than I did.

"You just plug them in," I said with a shrug. "I'd give you some to take to Mirkwood with you, but I don't suppose you have any sockets there."

"How is it," he said, turning to me, "that you know of my realm? Have our histories passed into lore?"

"Yes, in a way," I said.

"Then we are not forgotten?"

He sat back down on the sofa. I moved coyly towards a chair in the corner, but Thranduil frowned and patted the cushion beside him.

The gesture made me gulp, but I was impelled to follow its implicit command. I sat down beside him and held my wine glass in front of me, like a shield.

"Tempted as I am to ask in what regard I am held by those who live long after me, I have been warned not to," he said with a sigh. "For if I look into my future, I can never again return to my present."

"So I can't tell you what happens when―"

He held up a hand, preventing further revelation.

"You must not speak of it, even in jest. It is enough that I know our stories will be told to generations beyond me."

There was a silence in which tension built rapidly and palpably between us.

"If it could only be known whether those stories were glorious or tragic," he said, apparently to himself. "Or whether I will live as a great king or...otherwise."

My goodness, what a dilemma. It must be torture to be sitting beside somebody who could give you ultimate good or bad news – and not be able to ask.

"I wish I could tell you," I said.

He brooded over his wine glass, obviously somewhere far away, like the misty mountains cold.

"In truth," he said, breaking his reflective gaze to look at me again, "there are but two questions I would seek to have answered. The first: will the Necromancer be defeated? The second: will my son Legolas live to succeed me as king? Of course, you may not answer, even if you know."

I wanted very badly to give him some kind of clue, but I had no idea what would constitute enough information to consign him to permanent banishment.

Instead, all I could do was give him my most agonised expression of sympathy, in the hope that it didn't make me look like a constipated pug dog.

He took a draught of his wine, and his mood seemed to change with it, the distant element disappearing from his eyes as he turned back to me, and the here and now.

"There is a question you may answer, however," he said, taking my glass and putting it down on the coffee table along with his own, all the better to corner me with the intensity of his full attention.

"Oh?" I said, but it was a whisper really. I had never been scared and turned on at the same time and it was quite the heady combination.

His black and silver robes rustled as he moved subtly closer to me, then raised his hands to my face. I was in full rabbit-in-headlights mode, unable to even quiver. He slid long fingers through my hair and then ran them over the tips of my ears, tracing their contours with a touch that dissolved everything inside me.

"How did this happen?" he asked softly.

Hmm, there were these things called words, if my memory wasn't as shattered as my senses, but God knew how you got them to work. It was beyond me.

"Did it hurt you?" he asked.

Ah yes. Words. He was still stroking the tips of my ears, but I thought, if I tried hard enough, I might be able to get something out.

"No," I meeped. 

"They were not clipped?"

"No, not clipped. It's, uh, evolution."

"Evolution?" He repeated the English word as if it poisoned him, his face angled sideways, his eyes glued on mine.

I hadn't expected to spend Christmas Eve outlining Darwinism in Sindarin to an elf. But then, it beat sitting in front of the 1976 Morecambe and Wise Special with mum and dad. Well, narrowly.

My halting words of explanation running out of steam, he took his fingers from my ears and drained his glass.

"Actually, I ought to call my―"

But he hushed me and took the bag I had reached for away from me, dumping it on the far side of him.

"No, elleth," he said, then he flashed a smile and said, although the syllables clearly pained him, "Katie."

"Er..."

"I have more questions. Is this evolution too?"

Oh God, he was touching me again. This time he was prodding at my freckles, in a way that sent little pinpricks of sensation through me.

"No, that's not evolution. That's just my skin." I tried to smile through the shuddering breaths.

He picked up my glass and held it to my lips.

"Drink your fill," he murmured. "Drink deep. Let the wine do its work, and your anxiety will ease."

"You think I'm anxious? Probably because I ought to call―"

"I know you are. And it is understandable. But you need have no concerns." He waited while I finished the wine, then took the glass away and leant into me so that our lips almost met again. "There is only one call you should heed," he said. "And that is the call you heard when I kissed you in the tavern."

My heart jumped, along with the rest of me.

"So you _did_...?"

He took my hand and let it lie, limp and shaking, in his.

"You heard my promise, elleth, and now it is time that I keep it."


	4. Sexual Elf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm stoked to see that my Thran-fic is entertaining and amusing my fellow admirers of the fabulous one! Many thanks for all the comments and kudos. Now get ready for a roller-coaster chapter...

The hours that followed were simultaneously the strangest, most beautiful and most terrifying of my life.

I mean, I'd had sex before, but my previous encounters, fumbling and giggly as they were, had resembled this one as much as a dripping tap resembled the Niagara Falls.

Every sense was sharpened, every sinew stretched, and every second of our coming together was loaded with such intensity that I wondered how my heart withstood it.

With previous partners I had stumbled and clashed, a mismatch of limbs that somehow worked out in the end in spite of us.

With Thranduil, I was raised above the limitations of my body. It was like being spun around the dancefloor by an expert, whose steps you cannot help but follow with the same ease and grace. Suddenly, I knew what I was doing. I knew what he wanted me to do to him; and he did, unerringly and without hesitation, what I wanted him to do to me. 

It was heavenly. It was also frightening. At one point, as my third climax at his hands died away, I wondered if he had killed me and this was the afterlife. It was so unearthly wonderful, it couldn't be true, could it?

Throughout it all, we held each other's eyes, and perhaps that was what frightened me most of all. In the past, I had been self-conscious during sex and would keep my eyes shut, or my gaze fixed on the ceiling or wall. My natural instinct was to hide from scrutiny – and yet now, he did not even have to tell me to look at him. I just couldn't do otherwise. I watched his face through every expression from tenderness to desire to ecstasy, and he kept watch over me in the same way. It was too intimate. At times, I think I cried. But I kept the eye contact all the same, even as the tears spilled out of me.

The fourth, or was it the fifth, time we did it, he took me from behind, but there was a mirror in front of us, so the link was never broken. I think that image will stay with me forever. His hands gripping my shoulders, his glorious body risen above me, his face set with determination while his long hair whipped around his shoulders, back and forth in time with each thrust.

I don't know how long we spent tangled up and immersed in each other, but by the time I fell, breathing hard and barely able to see straight, into the more forgiving embrace of Jo's duvet, the streets outside were quiet save for the low whistle of the wind.

Vaguely, I had a feeling there was stuff I should be doing, but Thranduil gathered me up and kissed my brow and crooned some Elvish words I was too tired to understand, and I knew no more than that until morning.

*

It was light when I woke up. The curtains were open to let in a snow glare so bright even the wall and the bin yard couldn't deny it. It hurt my eyes and I shut them again, groaning as I came to consciousness of the bone-deep ache in my weary body.

My sleep had been profound and for a moment I was confused, my memories of the night so dreamlike that I presumed that was exactly what they had been.

But then, why was I in Jo's bed? And where was...?

I sat up, wincing and sucking in breath. Jesus, the man had laid waste to me as surely as if I were the battlefield outside Erebor. But ohhh, had it been worth it?! 

My descent into pleasurable reminiscence was halted by a horrible thought.

Christmas fucking Day! And I'd never called my parents to tell them...

So my expression was one of consternation as Thranduil strolled into the room wearing a towel cloak and not much else, his wet hair glistening down his back.

"Good morning," he said with a bow of his head, and his voice was what I could only call smug.

" _Christmas_ morning," I said, running my hands through my unkempt hair. Ugh, here he was, having clearly worked out for himself how modern baths functioned, looking as edible as ever, and I was a wrung-out scarecrow, all dried sweat and other unmentionable fluids. I didn't even have a toothbrush. 

"You should eat," he said, perching on the bed beside me and bending to kiss my forehead.

Aww. Some of the panic melted in the sheer joy of being close to him. Oh dear. I seemed to have got it quite bad. _It was just sex_ , I tried to tell myself, but no part of me was remotely convinced. It was much more than that.

"You should have woken me," I said, looking around for my clothes. Where did I leave them? The sequence of events was fuzzy in my mind.

"You slept so peacefully, I had not the heart. You were exhausted."

I blushed beneath his knowing glint.

_Yes, Mr Elven-king, you don't need me to tell you what a prize-winning swordsman you are._

"I have to get home," I said to him, biting my lip. "I'm sorry. Do you mind staying here for a bit? It's just that my parents will be going out of their minds."

"You have parents here? You gave me to understand that you were quite alone in this place."

"Oh, well, yes, I have parents. And they will be expecting me. Christmas Day is a day for families to spend together. So, if you don't mind..."

I made a move, slow and painful as it was, but he stopped me with a hand on my collarbone, looking deeply and somewhat disapprovingly into my eyes.

"If Christmas is a day for families, then I must come with you."

I burst into slightly hysterical laughter at this proposition. Oh God, he had to be joking. Didn't he?

"Er..." I said, looking blankly at him.

"If you have parents, then it is only fitting that I should meet with them."

_What, after one night? I've heard of whirlwind relationships but..._

"They, uh, they won't be expecting guests," I said, my imagination full of the look on their faces if I pitched up with Thranduil in tow.

"Guests? Elleth, have you forgotten what passed between us in the hours of the night?"

_Not fucking likely!_

"Of course not. It was amazing. It was..."

"Then you know as well as I do that I am now your family. The bond is forged. I am your husband."

" _What_?"

"Why do you behave in this manner?" He was clearly angry, and perhaps a little hurt. "Is this not what you wished and planned for?"

"Marriage? Well...no. How can we be married anyway? There was no ceremony."

"Are you so ill-versed in your ancient culture that you have forgotten? The ceremony is all for show and feast. The wedding bond is forged at the consummation. If we have not had the feast, it takes nothing from the legitimacy of the bonding. What is done cannot be undone, and what is forged cannot now be broken."

I had no words. I stared at him, my wits flown to the four winds.

Could this possibly be true?

"I'm too young to get married," I said stupidly. I mean, it was a bit late to come up with objections now.

"Then why in the name of Eru did you give me clove wine?"

"Because it's Christmas," I said.

"Oh, you lie," he hissed at me, standing up and pacing up and down in his fury, his arms folded across his chest as the towel cape flapped behind him. He was majestic even in a towel. That was real majesty for you. "You know full well, elleth, that clove wine is only given with the purpose of seduction. Every elf in every realm drinks it upon their wedding night."

He turned to me imperiously, his face as coldly furious as any I had ever seen.

"So when you gave it to me, in that tavern, my first thought was to chastise you for your presumption. How did a round-eared creature like you dare hope to catch a king, and with so unsubtle a technique?"

"And that's why you said those cruel things...?"

"How else should I speak to you? It was an outrage. But when you went outside, my wits overcame my ire and I began to see how it could work to my advantage if I let you have your way with me."

"If I...your advantage...?"

Thranduil's countenance was unyielding and hard. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear this.

He stood stiff and proud by the window, the white light from it shining a halo around him. Not that he deserved one. Horns and a pitchfork, more like.

"I have not had word from my son these last ten years," he said. "We parted on bad terms. I had banished an elleth he had an eye for, and I would not lift the banishment, even though she had fought valiantly for us in battle."

"Well, perhaps you should have done."

"And perhaps you should not involve yourself in my affairs of state," he scolded. "To do so would have been to show weakness. So my son is lost to me for this time, and I know not whether he lives or dies. I have sent countless envoys to every kingdom in Middle Earth, yet none has returned with tidings of him."

"He's probably with the elleth," I suggested, but this didn't seem to go down well with Thranduil.

"Do you think that has not crossed my mind?" he snarled. "Be it as it may, I am left to consider the position of my realm. If I have no heir, then what will become of it?"

"Well, you could remarry," I said, shaking my head with bemusement. I mean, I couldn't believe he'd be short of offers. Even if he was a bastard.

"I have considered remarriage every day of the last five years," he said. "But my advisers counsel against it. They say it will turn the people against me. They will accuse me of abandoning the memory of my late wife."

"Not after all this time, surely."

"There is precedent for the remarriage of a king," said Thranduil. "Finwë, the first high king of the Noldor did so after he was made a widower. But when I point this out, my counsellors say only that it was many moons ago. They seem to think it will destabilise the population and damage my noble reputation abroad. No elven daughter wishes to be made a second wife. But if I do not remarry and sire another child, who will protect them against further encroachment from Dol-Guldur? Who will lead my people when I am gone to Valinor?"

"You..." I was beginning to understand what had happened.

Of course I had been pathetic to think a man like him would ever look twice at me if he didn't have some hideous ulterior motive. _Of course._

"But if I am outside my time, if I am not in Mirkwood, and the elleth I take is not of Middle Earthen stock...then how can my counsellors object?" he said quietly.

"You...total and utter...swine," I gibbered, getting up as quickly as my ruined limbs would allow and making a run for the living room. Yes, there were my clothes, yes, I had to get them on as fast as I possibly could.

He followed me, and I put the sofa between us, pulling on my knickers in as dignified a manner as I could muster.

"Why do you accuse me?" he complained. "You gave me the wine. And hence, you gave me the thought. Do you now seek to convince me that you do not want to be my Elven-queen? It is beyond belief. I suspect this performance is only intended to make me think better of you."

"No, it isn't," I snapped, deciding against the daily fight with my bra and going straight for the shirt instead.

"You are ashamed that I have seen your motives for what they are. Well, it is too late for shame, elleth."

"It isn't shame," I said, grabbing my jeans. "I just can't believe you think we're married."

"Naturally we are," he said, his voice raised in impatience. "We have lain together. You may even now carry my child inside you."

"I really don't think so."

"And why not? My son was conceived on my first wedding night. Should my second be any different?"

It didn't seem the right moment to launch into a brief lecture on the history of prophylaxis with particular reference to the contraceptive pill.

I concentrated instead on getting my jeans fastened and keeping my eyes well away from Thranduil, who seemed to get taller and more intimidating by the second.

"I don't think you understand," I muttered, my fingers fumbling with the top button, "how much times have changed."

"I understand that times have changed," he said, tossing wet hair behind his shoulder. "And not for the better. But certain things will never change. The bond that is made in the marriage bed is one of them."

I should have been looking for my socks, but I was compelled to look up at him instead. Every time he said the word 'bond' it was like a chain yanking my attention straight to him. I couldn't fight it.

"You have made a mistake," I said, hardly daring to speak the words. "A mistake that will cancel out what we have done."

"What we have done can never be cancelled out," he said. "I am your husband, and I am pledged now to cherish and protect you for as long as we both shall live. Nothing can cancel that out. No elf can abandon their spouse."

"But the thing is," I said, giving up on the socks and shoving my bare feet into my boots, "I'm not an elf. I'm a human."

I had expected a big reaction to this, and I got it. His face went through a dozen exquisite but worrying permutations before he managed to speak.

"That...cannot be so," he said.

"It is so. I'm a human woman. We can't be married. I'm sorry. I should have mentioned...argh!"

My scream was a reaction to his face flaring up in that disturbing way again. It was too much. I had to get out now.

Forgetting my bag, forgetting my coat, forgetting that he still had Jo's keys, forgetting everything except my fight or flight response screaming 'FLIGHT!!!!', I bolted out of the front door and down the stairs to the exit.

I hobbled blindly through the snow, hardly aware of the cold or the pain or anything except an overwhelming distress that blocked my throat and sat heavy in the pit of my stomach.

The streets were quiet and I staggered past window after window of coloured light, behind which happy people enjoyed each other's company without having to worry about having accidentally married an Elven-king. 

My progress was slower and slower as I came closer to my parents' house. It was as if my legs were lined with lead. The snow itself seemed to drive me back. Everything, inside me and out, was telling me to go back to Thranduil.

"I can't," I sobbed, willing myself forward. I was at the entrance to the close now. It was only a few yards more. "I can't."

My dad opened the door before I was halfway up the road. He ran out, paper crown blown from his head by the blizzard, and caught me just before I fell. 

"Katie, what the bloody hell...?"

I fell face-forward into his Scandi-style Christmas jumper and passed out.

*

I don't know how many hours I lay on the sofa in a fever.

Now and again I heard voices in the kitchen. "...probably flu...but where did she go?...when I called the garden centre they said...never mind...she's safe now and that's what matters..."

The smell of roasted meat, then of Christmas pudding, wafted over me, but I couldn't have eaten any of it.

The television burbled comfortingly in and out of my shivering wreckage, but when I was under, I was with Thranduil, I was with him in Jo's bed, seeing and feeling again everything that had happened. And my body longed for him more than I could even say. It was a sickness, it was how I imagined withdrawal from heavy duty narcotics to feel. Just to be near him again...to touch him...but I didn't begin to know how to move or stand, so there was nothing to be done.

"Are you sure you couldn't manage a bit of turkey broth, love?" It was mum, crouching down beside me, pulling me out of a vivid memory of Thranduil's tongue down my throat and his hands all over me.

I shivered miserably and made a whimpering noise, which was all I seemed to be capable of.

"Oh love," sighed mum, and she stroked my hair, gently at first, then she stopped dead and screamed so loud I was yanked right out of my delirium and sat up to stare at her.

"What?"

She pointed at me in horror.

"Your _ears_ , Katie. What's happened to your ears?"


	5. Elf Hazard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat, here's another chapter, how cool is that? Actually, I rushed this one a bit because I was conscious of wanting to get something posted before all the festive madness kicked in, so forgive me if it's slightly all-over-the-place. But your continuing amazing support has given me the will to write like the wind!

If you've never spent a Christmas Day in A & E, don't bother. I can't recommend it.

It's particularly dire when you're sitting shivering with a blanket around your shoulders, and getting astonished looks and whispers behind the hand from every wheelchair or stretcher that passes.

The triage nurse appeared to have no idea how to prioritise 'sudden elf ears', so we were waiting our turn, behind numerous people with injuries from carving knives or badly wired new electrical gear.

I was in no condition to do anything other than sit on the hard plastic chair and try not to die, but an enormously strong compulsion to throw off my malaise and run towards wherever Thranduil might be continued to roll through me in tidal waves. Where was he? Every fibre of my being screamed for him. In fact, I think in the midst of my delirium, I must have called out his name.

"What was that, love?" Mum materialised at my side with plastic teas for her and dad and a cup of water for me. "Nurse says probably about half an hour," she added to dad. "There's been a nasty crash out on the ring road. Drink driving plus this snow – must be a nightmare for them in here."

She put her hand to my forehead for the ninety ninth time.

"Oh, Dave, look," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. "Where are her freckles? Is it the illness, do you think? She's gone so pale even her freckles have faded? Oh dear, I wish they'd hurry up and see her."

The tinsel around the desk and the large open box of Quality Street on top of it swam in and out of my vision as I tried to make sense of what was happening to me.

I had elf ears. I was turning into an elf. Somehow, Thranduil's bodily fluids had the power to alter my DNA. But how could I be an elf? It just wasn't possible? And would my body continue to attack me for as long as I was away from Thranduil? This bond he had spoken of was no benign little natural system for securing affection between husband and wife. It was a curse, and it might yet be the death of me.

And what if he was just as ill as I was, lying in Jo's flat, unable to shake off the fever? 

The thought was enough to lend me the strength to rise to my wobbly feet. I was able to stand for a few seconds, the room whirling around me, before I fell back again.

It was useless. 

"Try a sip of water," mum begged, putting the plastic cup to my lips. It reminded me of Thranduil, performing the same gesture with the wine glass, and I sobbed, bending double and clutching my ribs.

"What's happened to you?" 

I could hear mum's uneven pleading, hear dad trying to calm her down, hear the brass band outside the main doors, hear crying children and belligerent drunks and distant sirens and...

Actually, I felt a little bit better. Was I imagining it?

I raised my head cautiously, trying not to push my luck. The room failed to lurch into a spiral. The pain in my head was dying down, little by little.

I looked at mum, taking long deep breaths.

"I...think the worst is over," I said, putting a hand up to one of my ears. Still pointy. Well, there might be lots of beanie hats in my future, but at least I _had_ a future.

And my legs worked. In fact, they worked independently of me, as evidenced by their taking me on an unscheduled totter towards the main doors, as if they thirsted to hear the Salvation Army's rendition of _Hark The Herald Angels Sing_.

The doors slid open and revealed a parked ambulance, from which a group of paramedics were unloading a gurney.

"BP 90 over 45," one of them said breathlessly to the doctor who had come out to meet them. "Found unconscious in the snow, no apparent injury or obvious cause, probable hypothermia..."

The words ceased to make any sense, because I had seen who was lying on the trolley.

"Stand aside, please," said the medic curtly, but there was no way I could do that. I followed them to the cubicle and stood breathlessly by the curtain.

"Let me in," I said. "I know him. I know how to help him."

"Are you a relative?"

"Yes, yes, I am," I said, eluding the nurse who stood in my way to take my place at Thranduil's side. "I'm his wife."

The words fell out, feeling right and natural, not odd and foreign as I might have found them a few hours earlier.

"Does he have a medical condition?" asked the doctor, watching me with interest as I took Thranduil's frozen hand in mine.

I shook my head, but I had no more words for the hospital staff. 

Thranduil lay on the casualty cot in his black and silver robes, minus the sword, which I guessed must have been removed in the ambulance. He was pure alabaster; it was hard to tell where his hair ended and his skin began. Only his dark brows and eyelashes varied the snowy pallor of his countenance, along with the bluish tinge of his lips.

I bent over him and spoke some words I didn't even know – another, older Elvish language, perhaps. As I held his hands, warmth crept back into them. 

The doctor was talking but I couldn't make out a word of it. There was one thing to be done, one thing that would bring him back. I had to do it now, before it was too late.

I kissed his lips, just once, just as lightly as he had kissed mine in the pub, and as I did it, I sent him a thought.

_Come back to me._

"The old Sleeping Beauty trick, eh?" said the nurse sceptically. "Come on, now, I really think...oh!"

He was going to have to eat his words, because Thranduil's lashes were fluttering and his lips had regained their customary rosy tinge. I squeezed his fingers and his eyes flew open, blazing blue jewels set in snow.

"You did," I whispered. "You came back."

"It's a Christmas miracle," remarked the doctor. "All the same, we ought to take bloods..."

But Thranduil had other plans. He sat up, taking in his surroundings before sliding his legs off the cot and turning to me.

"We must leave this place," he said. His hands were still in mine, and he made no move to unclasp our fingers. "We must be alone."

I nodded. My body was telling me that everything was right with the world because I was with him. My brain...well, that could take a back seat for the moment.

He gave the doctor and nurse a courteous inclination of his head and swept out of the cubicle, drawing me along by the hand.

"Wait a minute!" objected the nurse. "You can't just..."

"He's discharging himself," I said. "He's fine. Look at him."

The nurse humphed and pulled the curtains shut with some asperity.

"You are all right, aren't you?" I asked Thranduil, who certainly looked every inch the immortal Elven-king again.

He pulled me into an open linen cupboard near the reception desk.

"I am quite well," he said, his eyes boring into me. "And I will remain so, as will you, for as long as you stay by my side."

"That illness..."

"You could have killed us both, Catiel."

Who the hell was Catiel? I forebore the urge to ask, given the grave subject matter.

"Killed us? Really?"

"When a bond is made, its power is new and strong. For three days, the couple must not part, or they will pine and sicken. How is it that I must explain these ancient and well-known rites to you? Or do you mean to kill me? Are you, in fact, an assassin, placed here by my enemies..."

"Good God, no. That's pure paranoia! I wouldn't have the first idea how to kill somebody."

"You came close, Catiel, close enough to drain my life almost to the lees."

"Catiel?"

"I cannot pronounce your name," he said, waving an impatient hand, then placing it against a shelf of towels above my head so that he loomed over me. His face was stormy and I feared I was in for an earful of stinging recrimination.

But I was saved from this fate by my very ears themselves. 

Thranduil was in the act of bending to them to bestow a few more harsh words, just in case I hadn't got the message, when he drew in a deep breath of satisfaction and put his fingers to their pointy little tips.

"Ahhh," he said. "You cannot deny it now, elleth. How was it that you hid them? Did you use magic?"

"I swear I didn't have them until today. They grew of their own accord. I suppose it must be something to do with you...with what we did..."

I silenced into a quivering mass of blushes. The memories of that night had risen up again, stronger than ever, a series of scenes flashing through my mind without mercy.

"Why did you tell me you were human?"

"Because I _am_ ," I wailed. "Or I was...or I should be..."

He raised an eyebrow, his fingertip tickling the space beneath my earlobe, which did little to crystallise my thoughts into coherence.

"I mean," I soldiered on, "I think I've caught elvishness – from you."

He shook his head, rolling his eyes.

"That cannot be," he said. "Elven blood flows in your veins, and always has done, or you would not have heard my call in the tavern."

I blinked. This put yet another complexion on things.

"Really?"

"Really. Such communication can only occur between elves. Unless you are a witch. I suppose you are not?"

"Er, not as far as I know," I said, although it wouldn't have surprised me any more if I'd found out I was the long-lost love child of the Lindbergh baby and the crew of the Marie Celeste.

"Then I will hear no more of your foolishness. End this pretence, and accept that you have given yourself to me in marriage, for good or ill."

It didn't look as if I had any choice, and besides, certain elements of my anatomy were signalling wild enthusiasm at this suggestion.

"Perhaps I have always had some elvish blood," I said, "without knowing it."

"Perhaps none of this is to the purpose," said Thranduil in a lower tone, moving his hand to the back of my neck. "Such a dangerous fracture to our bond will require some repair..."

He didn't need to spell it out. His mouth did it for him, fixing itself on mine without further delay. It was as if he breathed life into me, taking away the remnants of my fever and pain, making my senses flower and my skin sing.

My hands acted of their own accord, creeping up his chest and over his shoulders, holding on as if my life depended upon it. And perhaps it did. I thought I could never get enough of him, never get him close enough, never let him out once I had him inside me. Fever had gone, but a madness of physical need had taken its place, and I was ready then and there for him to do anything he wanted to me.

I pushed my hips into him, grinding them, the invitation raw and clear. His hand was at the waistband of my jeans, ready to ease them down, when the hacking sound of a throat being cleared in the doorway sent us springing apart.

"Oh! Dad!" I cried with a brittle, high-pitched laugh. "I didn't see you there."

"No, clearly," he said, looking Thranduil up and down in a manner that didn't scream 'welcoming father-in-law'. "What's going on, Katie? Who's this?"

What to say? The truth was clearly not something that would be satisfactorily established in a hospital linen closet on the evening of Christmas Day. In fact, whether it would ever be satisfactorily established anywhere was a moot point.

While the cogs of my brain were attempting to shake off their rust and whir into action, Thranduil began to question me on the identity of our visitor.

"Hush, let me think a minute. Oh God, it's my dad, all right?"

"What's that language?" frowned dad. "Russian or something? You don't speak Russian. Katie? Please? I've had about as much as I can take today. Is an explanation too much to ask?"

"This is a, uh, friend of mine from university," I said, sticking to the story Jo had given me. "He turned up unexpectedly and...look, would it be OK for him to stay the night at ours? Just the one night? I wouldn't ask, but he's got nowhere else..."

Mum had appeared behind dad's shoulder and was listening with wide-eyed concern.

"A bit more than a friend, I think," humphed dad, but Thranduil had bowed low and offered his hand in some kind of old-fashioned elven courtesy ritual.

"I greet you, father-in-law," he said. "I have made my promise to your daughter and you may be assured that I will hold fast to it. Kindly accept my deepest respects."

"He doesn't understand a word you're saying," I muttered out of the corner of my mouth.

Thranduil straightened up and regarded me with astonishment.

"He does not speak his own language?"

"Very few of us speak Elvish now. I'm sorry. It's just more or less died out."

"I grieve to hear it," he said, and he really did look crestfallen, but only until he bowed to my mother, took her hand and raised it to his lips.

"Take my respects also, esteemed lady," he said, and mum must have gleaned something from his manner, if not his vocabulary, because she blushed and said, "Lovely manners."

"Lovely manners or not, I'm not having some foreign drug dealer under my roof for Christmas," snapped dad.

"Drug dealer? Where are you getting that from?"

"Well, that's what it was, wasn't it? Cold turkey. And on Christmas Day!"

"I can't _believe_ you'd think that of me! I've never even smoked a cigarette, for God's sake."

"I know what goes on at university," he said, jabbing a finger at me. "I wasn't born yesterday. I mean, look at him, for Christ's sake. He's either a drug lord or a refugee from the Christmas pantomime. It's a bloody―"

I was too hurt and furious to defend myself, but Thranduil seemed to have the job covered, because he lifted his hands and performed some kind of finger-based jiggery pokery, staring intently at my parents all the while, until my dad was suddenly speechless and both of them gazed at him with a weird blank look on their faces, waiting for him to stop.

"What did you just do?" I said, into the sudden silence.

"An old spell but a useful one," he said. "It cannot work on minds that are armed against it, but their ignorance has aided me. They will forget their anger. Why are they angry?"

"They think...oh don't worry...they're just being stupid. Really, really stupid. God!"

Thranduil withdrew his hands, the job done, and folded his arms across his chest, waiting for their next utterance.

"Sorry, love," said mum. "Someone's all out of Christmas spirit. Honestly, Dave."

"I don't know what came over me," he said apologetically, and this time he held out his hand to Thranduil, who took it and shook it heartily. "Forget I said all that. Any friend of Katie's is a friend of ours."

"But are you both all right?" said mum anxiously. "That bug you caught was a very nasty one. But I suppose it was one of those 24 hour things?"

"Yeah, probably," I said. "I'm fine now, and so is Thranduil."

"Thranduil. I've never heard that name before. Is it Russian?"

I shrugged. "I...guess. So, is it all right if he stays with us tonight? I mean, he's not going to be able to get anywhere else on Christmas night, is he?"

"Of course," said mum. "I'll make up the spare bed. Are you sure you don't need to get those ears checked out?"

"I'll make an appointment with the GP after Christmas," I said. "They're not causing me any problems, so I really think we ought to leave the hospital staff to deal with all the genuine emergencies."

"Well...if you're sure."

We left the linen cupboard and stepped back out into the chaotic waiting area.

"Home, then?" said Dad, rattling his car keys.

"Actually," I said, looking at Thranduil, who had put one hand to the back of my neck in a way that send instant sparks showering down from my head to my toes. "I think we need to go and pick up some stuff from Jo's first. Thranduil left his, er, overnight bag there. Can we say we'll see you at home in an hour or so?"

"Oh, we'll drop you off and wait for you," said mum.

Thranduil's knuckles rubbed the nape of my neck in a slow circular motion. The message was clear. 

"No, that's OK," I said hurriedly, flushing hot at both Thanduil's machinations and the knowledge that my parents would know exactly why I was rejecting their kind proposition. "It's only ten minutes down the road. We'll walk."

My dad opened his mouth to object and I practically shouted, "Honestly, it's fine!"

They looked at each other, clearly unhappy with the idea, but Thranduil's spell-casting seemed to be holding up, because dad nodded and sighed, "Oh, all right. But no later than eight, all right?"

"I promise," I said, with a slight catch in my voice from my rapidly increasing need to be somewhere horizontal with Thranduil. "No later."

We parted by the Salvation Army band, who had moved on to _God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen_.

Thranduil waited until they were out of sight, beyond the ranks of parked cars, before winding me into a tight hold and rasping into my ear.

"Now can we be alone?"

I felt his heart hammering above mine and the brassy music and biting snow fell away, a long way away, replaced by the sheer force of my desire for him.

"Let's go," I whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, alone with Thranduil, whatever would you do, eh? ;). Merry Christmas to all, and I hope to have a new chapter up by the end of the weekend xxx.


	6. An Elfy Appetite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All that Christmas palaver is out of the way - for me, anyway. For Thranduil and Katie, not so much. Thank you to all readers and commenters for maintaining my festive glow.

Jo's flat wasn't a long way from the hospital, but apparently a fifteen minute walk was far too long for either of us to go without each other.

Thranduil strode across the car park so quickly, with me hanging on to his hand and trotting behind him, that I thought he might be wearing seven-league boots. As soon as we made it across the road bridge and into the warren of terraced streets beyond, he was on the lookout for a suitable alleyway. It didn't take him long to find one.

He swung me against the wall and set about a perfect choreography of jeans-removal and passionate kissing. Nothing, it seemed, was too complicated for Thranduil, who moved with such exactness and confidence that he had me wrapped around his hips with my fists full of his hair within what seemed like seconds, but surely must have been longer.

And it shouldn't even work in this position; the height differential was enough to make it awkward, if not impossible - with any other man. But not with Thranduil. He held me in place as if I were a doll.

It should have been perishing cold. I should have felt the bite of the snow as it fluttered into my face and on to my hands. Yet I felt nothing but the white hot burn of my insatiable need for him, insulating me from the cold as surely as if I'd burst into flames.

There was no hard, damp brick behind me and no slushy asphalt underneath. I was wrapped up in Thranduil and nothing else could exist for the time that we were joined. He pushed into me, filling me literally and spiritually, sending me on a wild ride into the furthest extremities of pleasure. I clung to him, willing him to give me everything he had, desperate to give him all of me.

At the moment of completion, he cupped my face in his hands, no longer even needing to hold me and poured the light of his eyes into me, reading my face greedily in the throes of ecstasy. It was my gift to him, unruly and savage as it was. My soul was his, and he knew it.

"You are mine, always," he whispered, and then he joined me in the vortex of pleasure; two souls from different realities, become one.

Back at Jo's flat, we fell on the bed and feasted upon each other. Whatever life had been leeched from us by the broken bond was restored a little more with each kiss, each laying of his hands upon me, each ransacking of my most intimate places. I was wide open to him, and he would not allow any backward step into my old hiding places. 

I don't know how much time passed in that bed. He kept at me until I ached and my limbs lost what little strength they had. The last of countless climaxes eventually finished me off. The edges of my vision blackened and the last thing I saw was his face, intent, then concerned, then...

I awoke in his arms. He had found a bottle of Jo's shower gel and was wafting it under my nose.

"I...what happened? Did I pass out?"

"I think you have not eaten in a long while," he said with gentle reproof.

"No...that's true..."

"I have searched in vain for food here that might revive you."

"Well...God, what time is it? There'll be mountains of it at home. We really ought to get home."

It was half past eight – an hour and a half since leaving the hospital, yet in such a relatively short time we seemed to have squeezed in several year's worth of bone-melting sex. Was this the way elf marriage was? And if so, how did anybody survive it?

"So would you say the bond was repaired, then?" I asked with a yawn, retrieving my knickers from the lampshade.

"So long as you do not leave my side in the next two days," he said, watching my graceless efforts to dress with a feline smirk.

"But what happens if elven husbands and wives do get separated? Surely they can't always be together."

"By the end of the first three days, the bond is strong enough to survive separation."

I tried to think about this. Thranduil's presence was like a life-giving drug. Already, I couldn't bear to contemplate a reality without him. But at the margins of my consciousness lurked the nagging question of how on earth I would manage to lead a well-balanced and sane life _with_ him. It was half-concealed and quiet for now, drowned out by the urgency of my need for him, but at some point it would need to be addressed.

"Come," he said, putting my coat on me. "Take me to your home."

"Thranduil," I said, making my way carefully down the stairs for fear of further collapse. "Do you mind if I call you Thranduil? Or do I have to call you my lord or something?"

"In company, you most certainly should," he said. "In private, you may use my name."

I turned to him at the door of the block.

"Tell me," I said. "Do you...like me?"

He looked impatient for a moment, then he sighed and took my hands, giving me that penetrating, x-ray stare of his.

"You are my wife. I cannot do otherwise," he said.

It wasn't really the answer I sought, but it was going to have to do.

Stepping out into the snow, my knees buckled again and I had to hold on to the corner of the bin shed to stay upright.

Thranduil acted instantly, darting forward to scoop me up and lift me into his arms.

"I hope the journey is not long," he said, as I settled into his chest with a strangely enjoyable swoony feeling. No wonder those corseted women were always having fainting fits if this was the result. Perhaps I'd do it more often.

"Not long," I sighed. Not long enough. Seeing the world from this angle was really lovely, notwithstanding the arctic temperatures and cruel wind. "You turn right on to this long street, walk up for about a mile, then there's a new build estate just past the Co-op. It's a cul de sac off the main thoroughfare."

"You speak strangely, but I will follow your directions."

"Aren't you tired? I mean, surely you haven't eaten either?"

"I found a bunch of some outlandish fruit upon the table of your associate. I was able to eat it before the sickness took me."

"Outlandish fruit?"

"Yes, it had a yellow skin and was shaped as a crescent."

"Oh, bananas! Right."

"Bananas. I have not seen their like before."

"I suppose you haven't. So, a bunch of bananas, and nothing else?"

"It is perfectly sufficient."

I had to take my hat off to his stamina. All that shagging and spell-casting and lugging swooning maidens around town, on a bunch of bananas. It was impressive.

"So," I said, as he bore me up the main road out of town, past all the shuttered mini-marts and fried chicken shops. "I told my parents you were a friend from university."

"Why did you tell them that?" Thranduil's tone was sharp.

"They won't understand, if they tell them the truth. They won't believe me."

"Why not?"

"Why not? Well, they don't believe in elves or Middle Earth or anything. They think it's all a story."

"It is a story. The story of their heritage. And how can they fail to believe in elves when they themselves must bear elvish blood? It makes no sense."

"Oh, I doubt they have any elvish blood," I said.

"If you are their daughter, then at least one of them does."

"I was adopted."

He stopped dead at the corner of the street and raised his eyebrows at me.

"Adopted? Then you are an orphan?"

"Oh, maybe. I don't know. I never knew who my parents were. I mean, adopted children are allowed to try and trace them once they reach their 18th birthday, but in my case, there was no point. Nobody knew who they were."

"Nobody knew? How could it be so? Were you a foundling?"

"Well." I laughed, the same brittle laugh that always came out when I talked about the circumstances of my birth. "If you want to be old-fashioned about it, yeah. I'm a foundling."

"And where were you found?"

"In Thorney Copse, just on the outskirts of town. I was found by a dog walker. I was only a few hours old. I mean, it was summer, so it wasn't like this, or I'd have frozen to death, probably."

"And your mother was never found?"

"No. They went round all the hospitals in the area, but she never turned up looking for medical care. She must have given birth alone. In the forest. It's awful to think of how desperate she must have been. I try not to, to be honest."

"You will take me to this place," said Thranduil thoughtfully.

"Oh God, not tonight!"

"No, not tonight. You must eat and keep warm. But tomorrow, when you are revived and rested."

I wasn't sure there was any mileage in this idea, but I was too tired to argue about it. I sailed along silently in his arms for the rest of the journey, almost asleep but not quite, while he trod the snow-carpeted streets, deep in thought.

Arriving outside my family home, he paused before taking the path to the front door.

"You must introduce me properly," he said. "I will not enter a house under false pretences."

"Oh, God, really?" I moaned. I really didn't have the strength for a Christmas contretemps. "Can't I do it tomorrow?"

"They must know, Catriel, and they deserve to know. You disrespect them by keeping the truth from them, and you disrespect me by concealing my true relation to you."

"Just let me have something to eat first."

He nodded and sighed.

"But do not delay. I ask for your promise."

"Can't I leave it till after the _Downton Abbey_ Christmas special?"

It was a pointless request on all fronts, of course, as the wrinkles of irritation on his brow attested.

"All right," I sighed. "I promise I'll tell them."

Again, my dad anticipated our knock at the door, flinging it wide open with a loud, "Where the hell have you been?"

"Sorry, I wasn't feeling too good," I told him as Thranduil marched across the threshold with me. "I had to lie down for a while."

"You haven't eaten all day," fretted mum, appearing in the hall with a tin of mince pies. "Here. I kept your dinner in the oven, but it's very overcooked now."

Ah, mince pies. I took one for me and one for Thranduil. He put me down on the sofa and held it up to his eye.

"What is inside it?"

"Mincemeat."

"Meat? I do not eat meat."

"Oh, no, not actual meat. It's just dried fruit and stuff."

"So why is it called meat?"

"Oh...like sweetmeats, I suppose."

This made some sense to him and he bit into the pastry disc, apparently finding it to his liking.

"Thranduil likes your mince pies, mum," I called through to the kitchen, where a lot of clattering was taking place.

"What else does he like?" she called back. "I've got cold turkey, ham, I could warm up some roast potatoes, stuffing, veg, lots of cheese..."

"He's a vegetarian," I said. 

"Oh, just tell him to come in here and make himself up a plateful."

Thranduil accepted this suggestion. I nearly laughed out loud when he came back into the living room with a plateful of...sprouts. My most hated Christmas foodstuff. But I was finding them oddly appealing, for some reason.

"Mum, put some sprouts on my plate, will you?"

"What? You hate them."

"I just want to see if my tastes have changed."

"You really aren't well, are you, love?"

She peeked around the door, but she was smiling fondly, carrying a roasting tin in her oven-gloved hands.

I didn't know what had happened to me, but I devoured the sprouts, carrots and parsnips with voracious ease, whilst finding myself unable to face the turkey and stuffing. A couple of roast potatoes went down well, too, though Thranduil wanted to know what they were. I gave him one, and he found it also to his liking.

"I've got some prosecco left over from lunch, but it might be a bit flat," said mum, coming in with the bottle and two glasses.

Thranduil's appetite for wine was apparently undimmed. He took a glass and held it aloft.

"I drink to your hospitality and to our long and fruitful kinship," he said, before draining the glass.

"What did he say?" asked dad.

"Oh, you know, just cheers," I said uncomfortably, aware that the evil hour of revelation was coming.

But was it? Did I have to do it? After all, Thranduil spoke not a word of English. How was he to know what I had told them? But what could I say that would garner a plausible enough reaction from them to satisfy Thranduil?

"The hour has come," he said to me ominously, stretching a long arm along the the back of the sofa so that I was within reach of him.

"Ears," said mum suddenly, looking from me to him and back again.

"What?"

"You've both got that ear thing. Is it contagious? What is it?"

"I think I must have caught it off him," I said.

"Like chickenpox? I've never heard of a virus that did that," said mum. "Your dad and I tried Googling it while you were out, but nothing came up. Well, except silly things."

"To do with elves and rubbish like that," added dad.

"Ah, well, it's funny you should say that," I started, but I couldn't go on. There was really no way to tell them.

"What? You're an elf?" Dad laughed heartily. "That's taking the method acting a bit far, love. I know that job at the Garden Centre was getting to you, but Christmas is over now. You can chuck out the costume and be a human again."

"Yes, but, I think, in a funny way, it's affected me more than it should have done," I said, casting around desperately for a way to explain. Thranduil's fingertips, playing gently but meaningfully on the back of my neck, weren't helping either.

"You're overtired and not yourself, love," said mum sympathetically. "I think a good night's sleep will do the trick."

"What if I were to tell you," I said, horribly conscious of Thranduil's intent stare, fixed right on my lips, "that Thranduil here is an elven king and I'm an elf, too, and we, er, we're married?"

Dad got up abruptly and went to the drinks cabinet.

"I'd say I need a bit more of that whiskey I got from uncle Jim," he muttered. "Shelley, I've had enough for one day. I'll leave you to it."

He poured himself a triple measure and disappeared into the conservatory.

Mum sat down and mopped her brow with the tea towel she'd been carrying.

"Katie, why don't you and Thingywotsit go to bed? I've made up the spare room. I've even got a fresh toothbrush out of the cabinet for him. We're all very tired and stressed and we need to rest. All right?"

"What are they saying?" asked Thranduil. "Have you told them?"

"Yes," I hissed. "And, just as I expected, they don't believe a word of it. So we might as well just give them a little bit of time and space. They've had a pretty weird Christmas. Not quite as weird as mine, but still..."

"Let me speak to them," he said.

"You don't speak English."

"How did you learn Elvish? You must have a book of some kind. I will look at it."

"All right. I'll bring it down."

He watched me over the rim of his champagne flute as I hared upstairs to get my Teach Yourself Elvish materials. He could speak English as fluently as he liked, I thought crossly, but it wouldn't make any difference to the credibility of his story. What he had to understand was that _nobody believed in elves_.

The book was doubly difficult for him to navigate, as the Elvish characters were transliterated into Roman alphabet before he even got to compare them with the English words and phrases, so it was a long and painful process, aided and abetted by the rest of the bottle of Prosecco. While he made notes in the ring-binder I'd used last summer, mum glazed over in front of _Downton_ , having apparently tuned out for the rest of the night. I couldn't say I blamed her.

As the credits rolled and the last few drops of prosecco disappeared down the elven throat, he stood up, arranged himself into the most majestic posture possible and held up his notes in front of him.

"Yes, dear?" said mum absently, switching off the TV. "Did you want to ask about the bathroom? There's fresh towels in the airing cupboard.

He waved his hand at her for silence and proceeded.

"Honoured lady," he said, with just the hint of an accent.

"Oh," she said, shaking her head. "Really, I'm just..."

The look he gave her was enough to shut her up. Perhaps she didn't realise just how honoured she was.

"I speak to you as the rep-repres..."

"Representative," I suggested and he nodded tersely.

"Of a people you know not."

"Well, I've never been to Russia, of course," said mum. 

"I am of the woodland," he continued, "and so is the child you have taken into your home."

"Oh!" She was startled, flicking her eyes to me. "You told him about that?"

I nodded, biting my lip.

"To the woodland she must return," he said. "To live the life she was born to."

"Oh, nobody lives in Thorney Copse. That's just silly," said mum. "I think we're all very tired..."

"With me," he said, speaking over her. "With her husband."

Mum put the tea towel over her face and took several deep breaths.

"Dave," she called faintly, uncovering herself. "Can you come in here for a moment, please?"


	7. Elfy Options

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stars and swords and swashbuckles...oh my! Happy New Year to you all.

"Look," said dad, pouring himself another triple whiskey. "Let me get this straight. You say that you're married, but there's no certificate and nothing in writing? Then it's not legal, is it?"

"Not to you," I said, my head spinning with the amount of circles we'd talked. It was nearly midnight and I really wanted out of this now. "But to him, it is. In his...world. Country. However you want to think of it."

"I don't want to think of it _at all_ ," howled dad. "Can we leave it at you not being married except in your friend's addled head? Thank you and goodnight."

Thranduil was busy poring over the Teach Yourself Elvish book, trying as hard as he could to be fluent enough in conversational English to join in. I think perhaps he needed a few more days yet though.

"Look, love," said mum, watching dad stomp off up to bed with his whiskey. "Don't get me wrong. I think it's lovely that you've finally found someone who shares your...interests. But you can't expect me and your dad to get as involved in it all. Can't you see that?"

Oh God. She still saw all this as some kind of extreme role-play game. I had to concede defeat for the evening.

"I didn't ask for this," I said. "But it's the way things are now. The ears are the least of it. Oh well. Goodnight then."

"Goodnight," she sighed. "Perhaps we'll all feel better in the morning."

"I hope so." 

"Turn off the tree lights before you go up, will you?"

"Sure."

Thranduil said, "Goodnight," in English as she reached the foot of the stairs. She made a coughing sound and continued on her way.

"You're a fast learner," I said, moving over to the conservatory door. "But unfortunately, they _aren't_. I don't think we'll ever be able to convince them."

"The passing of ages has narrowed the minds of the people," said Thranduil, coming to stand behind me. "But what is this? Is it a chamber? Is it out of doors or sheltered?"

I let him into the conservatory, which was in darkness. The snow had stopped an hour or so before and the clouds had gradually parted to reveal the stars.

"Is it an observatory?" he breathed, walking swiftly to the furthest wall and crashing straight into it.

"It's plate glass," I said, trying not to laugh as he put a hand to his forehead and cast me a very pained look. "You know glass? A transparent material made from sand."

"Naturally I do. Our craftsmen produce exquisite ornaments from quartz and the like, but nothing of this size exists in our world."

"I suppose you don't have the technology. It's relatively recently that it was able to be made to these sorts of dimensions."

"I have never seen such a thing. But it is miraculous. I should like it for my palace. Such dazzling chambers I could have constructed. Those Noldor at Rivendell would see that they do not have the monopoly on taste or beauty."

"Of course they don't," I said comfortingly. "Your palace is just as nice."

"I do not recall showing it to you," said Thranduil. "At least, not yet."

My stomach plunged. He was going to take me to Middle Earth? Did he expect me to actually live there with him? 

Still so many questions without answers.

But he didn't pursue the subject, choosing instead to extend his hand to me. I took it and joined him by the far window, through which we gazed onwards to the constellations.

"The stars look upon us," he said softly. "They give us the blessing your parents withhold."

"At least someone does," I said, shivering a little at the wave of emotion that passed through me as I stood there with him, under the heavens.

"Beneath these same stars we elves awoke. See, the Menelmacar still shines, all these ages having passed. The Valacirca also. The world is much older than your parents know, and so am I. This difficulty of theirs will pass, and we will remain together, and the stars will continue to shine upon us."

These words did nothing to contain my shivering; if anything, they made it worse. I had forgotten how old he was and how much he had seen.

"Do you think they smile upon us?" I asked.

"I am sure of it," he said, his own lips curving upwards at me. "We were both born under these stars, millennia apart, and yet we are brought together. There must be a purpose and a design to it. Perhaps if we search these skies for long enough, we might read it."

"What, like the astrology column in the paper, you mean?" I said, but the joke only masked the enormous sense of wonder that was overtaking me.

Yes, it was amazing and strange and wondrous that Thranduil and I had met, and I had to agree with him that it must mean something. I had never before thought of myself as a person with a destiny, unless it was to eventually own a cat and maybe some tropical fish.

"You have writings in your own time, of the movements of the stars? How do your sages interpret them?"

"Oh, they don't really know," I said. "They pretend they do, but they aren't exactly scientific about it. Astronomers know a lot about them, though. People have been to space, you know. A man has walked on the moon."

And now it was Thranduil's turn to think I had gone mad.

"You cannot mean this," he said.

"I do. I could find a clip of it on my phone, I expect, if you want to..." I reached into my pocket, but he stopped me with a hand on my wrist.

"No, Catiel," he said. "We were speaking of our future. Of how we were brought together. The landing of a man on the moon is not to the purpose."

My spine tingled. He sounded utterly, undivertably serious. I had to pause for breath before I looked into his face.

"So...what do you think our future is?" I asked in a whisper. "Because – I'm really sorry but...oh God...I just can't see how it can work."

"Because we are of different times?"

"Different times! Different _worlds_. And because, oh, I don't know, all sorts of reasons. Like, I hardly know you at all. We met, we had a few drinks, we went to bed and suddenly you were saying we were married! I can't seem to..."

"Because we _are_ married," said Thranduil, leaning down to me to emphasise the point with the immensity of his physical presence. "Have I not explained this sufficiently?"

"Yes, you've told me how it works in _your_ world. It isn't the way it works in _mine_!"

"It quite clearly is," he said, and I could tell he was struggling to rein in his temper, "because the bond exists in such a powerful form that we were both almost killed earlier. There is still old magic to be found in your new and wondrous world. The question now is only how it will be harnessed."

"What do you mean?"

"How my ancient powers and your newer knowledge can be combined to the benefit of elvenkind."

"Blimey, you make it sound like a mission. The nearest I usually come to a mission is racing to get to the pub for last orders."

"You seem to have a poor understanding of yourself," said Thranduil. "As the mother of my child, you will need to take a more serious view of life."

Oh, here it was again. The mother of his child. Whatever. Once more, I eschewed the opportunity to explain the marvels of modern birth control. Speaking of which, I really ought to nip upstairs and take my pill as soon as I could. Missing a day right now would _not_ be too clever.

"I really wish I knew how that life would be," I said. "If I stay with you, where will we live? And I don't even mean your place or mine. I mean your _time_ or mine."

"For the present," said Thranduil thoughtfully. "Neither of us can know. The best we can hope to do is follow our stars."

Oh, very helpful. Pin my entire future on a distant, possibly dead, sun that doesn't give a crap about me. Thranduil's view of the stars was very romantic, but really...

"Like the wise men," I said, but I wasn't feeling as flippant as I sounded.

"Wise men will indeed do so," he said. "And for the time being, the stars tell me that your birthplace in the forest is somewhere valuable discoveries might be made."

"Do you really think so?" I said, thinking the most valuable discovery likely to be made in Thorney Copse would be a stash of porn mags or a murder weapon.

"Yes. It gave you to me. I sense that it will give more than that. I must confess, I had wondered if any woodlands remained in your world."

"Well, it is a bit built up these days, I suppose. There's a lot more of us and we all need housing."

"And yet the forests are perfectly habitable."

"If you like that kind of thing," I retorted. "Personally I'm not too happy at the idea of all those giant spiders roaming around your place."

"You know about that?"

"Yes," I said, and it was on the tip of my tongue to tell him not to worry, they wouldn't be around forever, but then I recalled the ban on giving him any information about his future and bit it back.

"You are elven and yet you live in stone, like a _dwarf_ ," he said disdainfully.

"Oh, don't be such a racist," I said.

"What is this that you accuse me of?"

"You elves have a terrible attitude, if you're a typical example," I said, forgetting for a moment that I was speaking of my own kind. "You think you're so superior to everyone."

"Because we are," he said with a flash of real anger. "Why do you speak of elves as if you are not one? If you accuse me, then you accuse yourself."

"Oh, I don't think so. Maybe I am an elf, but I'm _nothing_ like you."

"No, you have not the nobility of bearing or demeanour, but it will come to you."

"I don't want it! I don't want to be like you, all imperious and scheming and...and...ugh. This is too much. I'm going to bed."

I was a mass of horrible conflicting emotions, and it was wearing me down. I was confused, scared, angry and stupidly, swooningly attracted to him. It was bloody tiring. A soft pillow and a hot water bottle were exactly what was needed.

I tore myself away from him and stormed up to my room.

It was like walking into a time capsule. In just over twenty four hours, so much had changed that my old bookcase full of fantasy books and my posters of people from _Game of Thrones_ looked like relics from a previous life. The hand-crocheted blanket on the bed, the _Star Trek_ chess set, the map of Middle Earth on the wall...

Oh, that map. It had become so familiar I no longer really saw it, but I went to take a good look now, putting my fingers to the forest of Mirkwood and laying my forehead in its midst.

I stayed there for a while, breathing deeply, before throwing on my nightshirt, brushing my teeth and burrowing under the bedcovers, as if they were the last refuge on a hostile Earth.

But, tired as I was, I couldn't even begin to sleep. My oversized ears were on high alert, listening for Thranduil, wondering what he was doing. Even though I had come up here to get away from him, I longed for him to come to me. Stupid damn contradictory emotions. I supposed it was the bond, but it didn't help to squash the feelings.

What the hell was I going to do though? Thranduil wasn't going to go away. I wasn't going to be able to live without him even if he did. And what if...when...he got the summons back to Middle Earth? What then? I could hardly leave my entire life behind to go and live on spinach in a spider-infested forest. Not that it wouldn't be interesting. I'd get to meet Legolas. Perhaps we'd go and visit Rivendell. Or Erebor. I'd give Dol Guldur a swerve, though. Oh God, I was Legolas' _stepmother_! An hysterical sob of laughter burst out of me, followed by a squeak of dread as I heard the unmistakable rattling of my door handle.

Why hadn't I heard him come up the stairs? He was unusually light-footed, but even so...

I threw off the bedclothes and sat bolt upright.

"Is that you?" I whispered, though the height and outline of the dimly-backlit silhouette in the doorway indicated that it could be nobody else. "You're supposed to sleep in the spare room. It's across the landing."

I had a feeling he wouldn't be taking this advice, though, and I was right. He shut the door behind him and stood there silently for just long enough for me to consider hyperventilating with nerves. This was neither the time nor place for a marital row, with the parents asleep next door. At least, I _hoped_ they were asleep.

"I do not care to be spoken to as you have spoken to me tonight," he said.

"OK," I whispered. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Goodnight. See you in the morning."

"Where do you imagine I will go? We must stay together, as you know."

"Yes, but, isn't it enough to be under the same roof?"

"No, it is not."

He approached the bed swiftly and stood looming over me like a tall, grey column of menace. His pearly skin and bright hair still glowed, almost luminescent in the darkness. He could get a second job as a street lamp, if Elven-King ever stopped paying well enough.

"Look," I said, still rather unnerved, "I probably said things I shouldn't have. I'm tired, that's all. Very tired and totally overwhelmed. Please let me sleep..."

"You may, of course, sleep," he said, his eyes glittering down at me. "But not alone."

I looked up at him, then down at the single bed I'd been sleeping in since I was seven.

"Well...I don't really see how that's going to work..."

In the end, I had to kind of wind myself around him like a vine. It was the only way we could both fit in. I was cross at first, despite the utter bliss of being close to him, because I couldn't imagine that I'd get much of my desperately-needed sleep in this position, but to my surprise no further words were exchanged before I fell into the luscious and comfortable darkness of sleep in Thranduil's arms.

I woke with a thud, still in the dark, and in some pain. I had been thrown on the floor. Still groggy from disturbed sleep, I babbled for a few moments, trying to see what was going on. A man was in the room! A very tall man, pulling on a pair of boots and a...sword! Oh God. The memories flooded back.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, rising with some difficulty and rubbing my sore hip.

"Somebody is in the house," said Thranduil, keeping his sword out in front of him as he stalked towards the door. He had picked it back up at Jo's flat before we returned here.

"What? Who?"

"No, you must not put yourself at risk," he said. "Remain here."

And with that he was gone, creeping as stealthily as a cat down the stairs. I had to go and see what he was doing, though – and he was right, there was something going on down there. I could hear some clattering and somebody clearing a throat.

Oh Jesus, what if Thranduil killed the guy? Defending your property with swords was doubtless all very well in Mirkwood, but here in England...

"Don't use your sword!" I shouted, running out on to the landing and putting on the light.

I was confronted by the sight of Thranduil, swishing his sword with impossible swiftness and skill in front of a petrified unshaven man in a beanie hat.

"Please, mate," sobbed the man, dropping dad's new smartphone and a four-pack of lager on the ground. "Don't kill me. I never meant to... I was desperate, see."

"Let him go," I urged, hurrying down the stairs but staying well out of range of the blurred manoeuvring of the blade. "I don't think he'll be back."

"The dog sought to steal your belongings," growled Thranduil, stopping the ninja moves and pointing the tip of the sword at the wretched man's adam's apple. "To let him go would be grave injustice."

"Yes, but killing him is taking it a bit far, don't you think?"

"Whatever is going on?" Dad had appeared at the top of the stairs. "Who's this? Another friend of yours?"

"No, a burglar, I think," I said. 

"Well, what are you standing around for? Pick up that phone and call the police."

"I think Thranduil's got it covered," I said, thinking that perhaps involving the police might not be the best idea, especially if they copped a load of Thranduil's weapon.

Dad made a noise of incoherent exasperation and stomped back into the bedroom, no doubt to use the telephone in there.

"Let him go," I urged Thranduil again.

"I don't know what you're saying," said the burglar, his ferrety eyes darting all over the place while he sweated into his scarf. "But please, just let me go – I've had a rough Christmas, chucked out on the street by my landlord, had to use the soup kitchen for Christmas lunch. If you'll let me go, I swear I'll sort my life out and you'll never hear from me again."

"It is Christmas," I said softly. "Thranduil. Please. He promises he will live a better life. Show him mercy."

"I am not inclined to be merciful," he said, flicking the blade slightly so that the burglar whimpered.

"Even for me? Call it my wedding present, if you like."

He half-smiled at that and withdrew the blade a fraction.

"Then you accept that the marriage is valid?"

"Yes. Yes, I accept it. Now can you let him go?"

Thranduil maintained his duelling pose for a second or two longer, then relaxed, returning the sword to its sheath.

"Quick," I said to the burglar. "Get out of here. But first, what's your name?"

He could have been lying, of course, but I was willing to bet he was too surprised and caught off-guard.

"Luke Hales," he said, stepping back with his eyes still on Thranduil.

"Right. Get going then, Luke Hales. And if I hear about any burglaries in the area, I'm going _straight_ to the police with your name and a report about tonight."

"Fair enough," he said. "Cheers. Merry Christmas."

He was barely out of the door before a police car screeched up, lights flashing. Mum and dad hurried down in their dressing gowns, relieved that the burglar was gone but a bit peeved that he'd got away.

"Nothing's been stolen," I said, picking up the pack of lager. "Really, why don't you tell the police it was a false alarm. I expect they're really busy."

I looked uneasily at Thranduil, who appeared to be mum's hero now, judging by the way she was simpering at him and offering him tea.

But dad let the officers in and was only a few sentences into his version of events when one of the cops gave Thranduil a long and curious look, lingering especially on his sword belt.

"Sorry, sir," he said to dad, moving towards Thranduil. "But...is that a real sword?"

"Replica," I said swiftly. "Role-play costume type of thing, you know."

"I don't know," said the officer, looking over to his colleague. "Rob, what was that report about a man threatening a Santa with a sword down at the garden centre?"

"Oh yeah." The other cop squinted hard at Thranduil. "Same height, racial profile, right down to the weird costume. And those ears can't be a coincidence. What's your name, mate?"

"Rivendell Garden Centre?" said mum. "That's where Katie works. Do you want a cup of tea?"

The tea was enough to distract them for the millisecond I needed. I slipped out into the conservatory, beckoning Thranduil after me.

A quick turn of the key in the lock and we were out in the dark back garden, away from the prying eyes of the local constabulary.

But what now? I had bare feet and the Boxing Day sun wasn't yet up.

"Thranduil, we have to leave," I said. "At least, you do. And if you do, I suppose I do, since the three days aren't up yet."

"Why must we leave? I have done no wrong."

"That's not what the police think. Come on." I opened the side gate and hurried into the cul-de-sac. "We have to get away, as fast as we can."

He didn't question it this time. He took my hand and ran with me, away from the parked police car, away from the early-morning curtain twitching, into the silent streets.


	8. Elf Benefits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little update today, before I get into the next phase of the story - let me know how jealous you are of Katie at the end of this one ;).

I knew I wasn't going to be able to go far with no shoes or socks on. There was slush on the pavements and my toes had lost all feeling by the time we were back on the main road.

"Where can we go?" asked Thranduil, keeping me moving only by holding on to me so tightly I couldn't let go.

My brain was still functioning, even if my circulation wasn't. 

"I know a place," I panted. "It isn't far. Cross that bridge that's coming up, then you'll be able to see it."

I looked behind me for signs of flashing lights, but so far nobody was on our tail. We fled past wheeliebins groaning with ripped wrapping paper and pulled crackers, watched only by neighbourhood cats in shiny new collars.

Once we made it across the bridge, I saw our destination ahead. It didn't exactly shine like a beacon in the night, but I knew it was there. I showed Thranduil the old wicket gate that led into the allotments and made for my grandad's old potting shed.

"What is this? Some manner of hobbit habitation?" he asked, looking curiously around at the little plots of vegetable beds, some with their rickety wooden huts built alongside.

"No," I said. "But my family owns one of these patches of land. It was my grandfather's, before he died."

Arriving at the allotment, I sighed at the state of the old place. I'd spent many summer evenings after school here with grandad, watering the tomato plants and pulling up spring onions. Now it was neglected and yielded nothing. Every spring, my parents spoke vaguely of getting the place back into shape, but so far they'd never made it.

I knew there was a spare key to the shed buried in some loose earth beneath one of the terracotta pots that used to be full of fragrant herbs. I bent to scrabble for it with fingers that were all but dead.

Yes! I held it up and Thranduil took it, opening the shed door, only to be greeted by a bloodcurdling shriek.

"Oh my God, you said you'd let me go. You promised!"

I darted underneath Thranduil's raised arm and found the shed occupied by a miserable bundle in a sleeping bag who, on closer investigation, proved to be Luke Hales, our abortive housebreaker.

I shushed him frantically, worried, despite the fact that nobody in their right mind would be out gardening at four a.m. on Boxing Day morning, that we might be overheard.

"Please," I hissed. "Don't make a fuss. We haven't come for you. This is my grandad's shed."

"Just my bloody luck," moaned Hales, still staring with abject terror at Thranduil, who gazed impassively back. "When am I going to catch a break? I wish you'd been the police, then at least I would've got a warm cell to sleep in and a fry-up in the morning."

"It's OK," I said. "I'm not throwing you out. But we might need your help."

"What?" he said, reaching over to light a candle and cast a small amount of illumination upon the scene. "The only thing I'm qualified to help anyone with is advice on how to fuck your life up beyond repair."

"Ah, I don't need any advice on that," I reassured him. "But what I do need is spare socks. You wouldn't happen to have a pair, would you?"

He blinked at me and I started stamping my feet on the floor.

"What are you talking about?" Thranduil wanted to know, taking my frozen fingers and doing some kind of thing to them that made them instantly warm. Neat trick. Now I needed him to repeat it with my toes, which, conveniently enough, he did.

"I'm asking him for socks," I said, sitting on the ground with my feet in Thranduil's lap while he stroked them with fingers apparently powered by the National Grid. "I can't go on the run barefoot in December. Speaking of which, what on Earth are we going to do? You're wanted by the police. There might be a warrant out for your arrest. I mean, this shed is OK for a night, but I don't fancy it as a permanent residence."

While I spoke, Hales fished around in a backpack, finally producing three pairs of socks, which he proffered mutely.

"Thanks? Any chance of a jumper? Sorry, I wouldn't ask but..." I indicated my thin cotton nightshirt, and he went back to the backpack.

"We will go to the woodlands, as we had planned," said Thranduil. "I am certain we will find shelter there."

"Well, I don't know about that. It's pretty wild."

"The stars are leading us there," said Thranduil. "They will not be false."

I wish I had his confidence, but while he was doing such wonders with my feet, my faith in him was pretty high. Other things were running pretty high, too, and I had to remind myself that perhaps there were better places to get all hot and bothered than an allotment shed at the crack of dawn whilst on the run from the law.

"What's that language you're speaking?" asked Hales, handing over a threadbare fleece with a bad graphic of a wolf on the front of it.

"Thanks," I said. "I'll bring it all back to you when I can. In fact, I'll buy you new ones. And..." I paused, trying to work out whether I was more tired of lying, or being met with chronic disbelief. Lying won. "It's Elvish."

"Elvish? I've never heard of that one. Is it one of those Baltic states? I've met a few Latvians, down the soup kitchen."

"No, it's not a Baltic state," I said, and I left it at that. "Thanks, Luke. We'd better get moving now. If you're still here when we get back..." I tailed off. Would we get back? What the hell was going to happen to us? "I'll pay you back for your kindness," I said lamely.

"No, that's what I'm doing for you," said Hales, taking out a pouch of tobacco and offering it to us. Thranduil looked intrigued by it, but I shook my head. "You let me get away. I owe you one. And I'm serious about not going back to the housebreaking. First thing Monday, I'll be down the Job Centre, I swear."

"Don't forget the housing office," I said with a smile, standing on feet that were considerably more sprightly than they had been five minutes before. Thranduil had made them seem to vibrate slightly, and it was rather pleasant, not to mention a little bit titillating. Perhaps there was something in reflexology after all.

Thranduil stood and bowed his head to Hales, still not entirely happy that he hadn't got to slice his head off, or whatever he'd planned to do earlier, and we departed back into the dark December morning.

"Is it far to the woodland?" asked Thranduil, peering along the patchwork of plots.

"Not really. If it weren't so dark, you'd be able to see it along the border of the allotments. It's about half a mile."

As if it had heard us, the moon appeared from behind a cloud, casting a giant shaft of silver light on to the tree tops.

"Ah, I see it." Thranduil quickened his pace. "I feel it welcomes us."

"Do you really?" I said, following him, but he did not reply.

He might be feeling the welcome of the woodland, but I was feeling something entirely different, and rather pressing. I could barely look at him without wanting to jump on board. A thousand itches squiggled all over my body and up and down my limbs, all of them aimed at getting him as close to me as possible. If only Luke bloody Hales hadn't been in the shed, we could have...

I laughed self-consciously. Here I was, with unbrushed hair, a dodgy wolf fleece over a nightshirt to my knees, and three pairs of holey old socks pulled up to mid-calf. Obviously I would be irresistible to Thranduil, who was still rocking the kingly black and silver gear and the knee-length boots. And why was his hair still so perfectly coiffed? Did he have some kind of spell for that too?

I marvelled at him - in between revelling in some slow-mo re-runs of our recent encounters - all the way to the allotment fence, at which point I had to stop and interact with him again, without swooning, if at all possible.

He tinkered with the chicken wire fence until he was able to step over it, then held out his arms to heave me across.

The minute I touched him, I was dead to anything except the strong urge to do every wicked thing I'd ever read about, and some I hadn't, with him. I think I made a funny little animal noise as he pressed me to his chest, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Yes?" he said, and I could tell he _knew_ , the smug beast. He braced a forearm underneath my bottom and smirked into my face, waiting for me to make a gibbering fool of myself.

"Ah," was all I could say, though it was less a word than a breathy little whimper. My body was rioting, and my brain had run and hidden behind the barricades.

"Do you mean to tell me something?" he whispered into my ear. Dear God, the _vibrations_. It was a good thing he was holding on to me so tightly, or I'd have slithered to the leaf-mulch floor and lain there until my bones reconstructed themselves.

"You know..." I whispered back, dying of humiliation. Couldn't he just _get the message_ and throw me over a tree stump or something?

"I know an elleth who has been fighting her bond with me," he said softly back. "I wonder if she has changed her mind about those unattractive qualities she listed?"

Oh God, I knew he'd make me pay for that. If only I'd realised that being on the run from the law could be so incredibly sexually arousing.

"No," I gasped, working hard to hang on to any remaining shreds of dignity, "You're still...imperious and...scheming...but never mind...I don't mind..."

He laughed, just as softly as his whisper, and put his lips to my ear.

"Is there something you want, Catiel?"

I kicked my still-thrumming feet, my heels battering his thighs, not that he seemed to register it.

"The bond," I ground out.

"Oh, the bond is to blame, is it?"

"I wouldn't want us...to get sick again..." I clamped my hand to his neck, massaging it in a mindless frenzy.

"Well, neither would I," said Thranduil. "So when I have heard what it is you wish from me, I will attend to it. You have my word on that."

"Don't _you_ feel it?" I wailed, my breath hitching in a literal last gasp attempt to save myself a bit of face.

"You had some words for me, and now I have some for you, Catiel. Stubborn is one. And dishonest is the other."

"What the fuck? I'm not dishonest," I said, startled out of my lust fog for a moment.

"Dishonest with yourself. You won't admit you want me, but until you do, you shall not have me."

"Oh, for God's sake," I moaned, galvanised by a huge surge of erotic energy, probably enough to light a small cluster of streets for a few minutes. "All right. I want you, Thranduil. I really want you, really badly."

"That's better," he purred, rewarding me with a luscious kiss on the side of my neck. My eyes rolled back and I let out a shuddering sigh. "Now tell me what you want me to do to you."

"Oh dear _God_ , whatever you want!" I cried, knowing that these were the last words I'd be able to speak until my cravings were assuaged.

Carte blanche was obviously something Thranduil liked being given, because he stopped teasing me and deposited me neatly into the forked branch of a nearby tree, the height of which was extremely convenient for our purpose.

My nightshirt and socks combo might not have been glamorous but they certainly made things convenient. Thranduil had the nightshirt up around my waist in short order, then he parted my thighs and put his magic fingers exactly where they would hit the spot with the most force. He made me hold his shoulders and look into his face while he played with me, watching me blur and melt under his hands.

"Is this what you want, my lady?" he asked me, but I was well past any kind of verbal reply, though I guess the orgasm he brought out of me was an affirmative of a kind.

He laughed as my total surrender wetted his fingers, and kissed my damp forehead.

"Now you may have me," he said.

The tree creaked and cracked as we forced it to sway along to our rhythm, but nothing could have deterred us. Lightning could have struck and we would have taken it, conjoined and without breaking stroke. I wanted my life to be nothing more than him on me and me under him. Or vice versa. I wasn't that fussy.

We worked that tree until it was too weak to hold us any more, and we lay spent and satisfied on the thin layer of unmelted snow beneath its boughs. Neither of us seemed to feel the cold at all.

He cupped my face in his hands and kissed it.

"You need only ever ask me," he said, breaking apart but still holding my face in his long splayed fingers. "For anything. You must learn to rely upon my love and protection."

Oh, what a thing to say. It was lucky it was so cold and the gathering tears froze in the corners of my eyes. I didn't want to get all snotty.

"I would like that," I said, and I couldn't have meant it more. "But I wish I had more to offer you..."

He hushed me with a finger to my lips.

"You offer me everything I desire," he said. "Now, we must make our way further into this forest. Take me to the place where you were found."


	9. Elfy Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a ton of leftover chocolates and cake and Christmassy confections and you, my lovely commenters and readers, can have them ALL. Thank you so much - I don't think anybody can enjoy reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it, mind you. I get to spend all this time with Thranduil - what could be better?

"I'm not exactly sure where it is."

This place was deep and dense enough in broad daylight; now, in the chilly winter dark, it was totally impenetrable.

Thranduil's eyes widened, signalling incredulity.

"How can a site of such significance be unknown to you? We elves venerate the places of our birth."

"Not this elf," I said with a shiver. "I was always afraid to go back. I didn't want to see how lonely it was, or how close I might have come to death. It freaks me out."

"But you need to make peace with your past," said Thranduil. "When you know your history, you can see your future. In my case, I was born to rule. I have known it always, from my earliest youth."

"So perhaps I was born to leave babies in the woods?" I said, with a terse edge that I regretted. What was the point of picking a fight with Thranduil over this? He would get his own way, as he always did. Perhaps a few lessons in humility along with all the 'born to rule' stuff might have done him some good.

"Of course you were not," he said, and thankfully his tone was gentle. He put his arms around me, holding me close while my impulses of fear and irritation died away. "I understand your reluctance. But you should not be afraid. I am with you."

Goddamn it, now I really _was_ crying. I managed to give my eyes a surreptitious wipe on his sleeve before he noticed, though.

"Aren't you afraid of anything?" I asked, looking up into his face.

"I have learned that fear is a waste of energy better expended on vanquishing its sources," he said. "If I have one fear, it is of leaving my kingdom without an heir. But that fear is no longer with me."

_Thanks to me_ , I thought, with a quick double-beat of my heart. But this wasn't the time to be thinking about that. Best change the subject, sharpish!

"Well, if I'm going to be an Elven-queen, perhaps I should adopt your attitude," I said, with a weak smile.

He kissed the tip of my nose. "Perhaps you should," he agreed. "Do you have no idea where the place might be?"

"Actually," I said, looking around at the parts of the woodland that lay in moonlight, "there's a path just over there. And I was found by a dog-walker, so I'd guess they were sticking fairly closely to the path. If we just follow it...I don't know." I shrugged. "I wouldn't recognise the exact spot though."

"You might not with your eyes," said Thranduil. "But it would be as well to keep all your senses as open as possible."

Well, my sense of hearing was certainly better now I had these giant lugholes, that was for sure. I could hear owls hooting miles away. But my olfactory nerves were all occupied with Thranduil and the devastating pheremones he exuded. It was hard to even detect the mouldy stench of dead leaf mulch underneath it.

I wandered, arm in arm with Thranduil, towards the path, grateful for the bitter cold because it had hardened the muddy tracks and made them more easily negotiable. Even so, it was no high road. Brambles often barred our way, and nettles were everywhere. I had to be careful not to sting the bare parts of my legs between my sock tops and the hem of my nightgown.

The moon's shafts did not penetrate through the thick criss-cross of tree branches above us. With every step, my dread deepened, along with a sense that we were leaving all light and civilisation behind us. What if we never found anything? What if we were lost here forever?

But Thranduil seemed to have no such qualms, drawing me onward whenever I hesitated, having the heightened senses of some kind of nocturnal animal. Perhaps I would develop these in time. I could only hope so.

"Thranduil," I said, but he shushed me.

"You need to listen," he admonished. "There will be time for speaking later."

My brain tried to hide from reality, assessing what we could do that didn't involve going any deeper into this creepy place. Could we hide out in the allotment shed until the three days were up? And then Thranduil could give himself up to the police. They'd only caution him, surely? And probably confiscate the sword. And then we could...what? But no. They might take it to court, and then there would be all kinds of awful palaver with paperwork and lawyers and proofs of identity. It was out of the question, after all.

Perhaps we could make it somewhere out of the way and hide there indefinitely. A beach hut on some southern shore. A deserted mill by a mountain stream. Oh God, anywhere but here! 

I wanted to be brave and dauntless, like Thranduil, but I wasn't quite there yet. But at least there were no giant spiders.

We came to a kind of clearing where the wind sighed so mournfully through one of the trees that it sounded like a human cry. It made me stop and stare at the black shape of it.

"You have stopped," whispered Thranduil, his fingers closing around my wrist. "Why?"

"I'm...not sure," I whispered back. "That tree..."

"Shall we go to it?"

I nodded, a lump in my throat preventing the words from coming. The urge to step away from it and run back the way we came was almost overwhelming, but I let Thranduil nudge me forwards, finding my own strength in his.

It was just a tree, a gnarled old thing, perhaps a yew, not that I was an expert. On closer inspection, the trunk was hollowed out quite a way inside. There was room in there to place a tiny baby. 

I turned away, suddenly filled from head to foot with terrible sadness – something more than the explicable feelings I'd expected. Something that seemed to come from outside as well as within me, and surrounded me with a wall of melancholy.

Thranduil, I vaguely noted, had knelt down and was looking inside the hollow. Through my thickening fog of misery, I heard him catch a breath.

"What?" I said, kneeling beside him, needing to feel him close to me. "What is it?"

He knelt up, turned to me and held out his palm.

Something stood upon it, a tiny carved wooden shape.

"What is it?"

"Take it," he said. "Look at it."

I did. Dark as our surroundings were, I could see that it was a squirrel. The workmanship was exquisite, the tail rendered into perfect bushiness with thousands of little nicks.

"It's beautiful," I said, turning it over and over. It was more than beautiful. It was sending me some kind of signal, a warm vibration that dissolved some of the sadness.

"Does it make you feel anything?" His eyes were fixed earnestly on mine.

"Yes, it does, I think. It makes me feel...nice." A lame way to describe it, but nothing else quite seemed to fit.

"There are more," he said. "An owl. A fox. A dormouse. All by the same craftsman. An Elvish craftsman."

"Elvish? Are you sure?"

"The style is unmistakable. Nobody but the Silvans have such affinity with wood."

"What does it mean? Why are they there?"

"I think they are placed there in memory of you. Or in the hope of calling you back."

"You really think they're for me?"

I put the wooden squirrel to my heart, on an impulse, and felt a strange joy spread through my chest.

"You feel the connection to this wood," said Thranduil. "I felt nothing when I handled them. They are most certainly meant for you. It is probable that they are carved by a blood relation of yours – perhaps a parent."

"Oh, it can't be..." I couldn't say more than that for fear of choking on the words. Here, in my hand, was something that might rewrite my entire history. My life had already been changed irrevocably when Thranduil walked into it, but this involved a seismic shift in everything I had always believed of myself.

"There is, in this woodland, an elf who thinks of you constantly," said Thranduil. "These figures are proof of it. They are carved with love."

"But," I said, my voice all cracked and croaky. "If they love me, why did they abandon me?"

"We are close to finding an explanation," said Thranduil, then he gathered me once more into his arms. "You are overwrought. Let us rest here until the dawn. No answers will come in the dark hours."

I retreated gratefully into the reassuring size and warmth of his bodily shelter. My mind whirled rapidly, then its cycles slowed, little by little, until I was able to think more clearly.

"I wish the light would come," I said, yawning. "I hate this dark place. Don't you?"

"I do not care for the dark, but I prefer to be here than in that cacophanous place we have left behind."

"You prefer this to the modern world?"

"I think I do. Your modern world demands too much attention from all quarters. There is not time or space for contemplation."

"That's an interesting perspective," I said. "Lots of people say the same. But we do have electricity. And chocolate."

"Yes, you have the means to do so many things, yet I think I would exchange them all to be back in my halls in the great greenwood."

"Yes," I said, after a pause. "About that."

He looked down at me, awaiting my words, while I worked hard to put them into a sensible sequence.

"You will be called back at some point," I said.

"Are you telling me my future?" he frowned.

"No, no," I said hurriedly, telling myself that I still didn't really know which point in time Thranduil had come here from. It could be after the War of the Ring for all I knew, though something told me it was somewhere between then and the events of The Hobbit. "Honestly, I'm not. I'm just assuming whoever banished you didn't intend to make it permanent."

"No. It was made clear at the time that I would return."

"Who did it? It must have been a wizard. Was it Gandalf?"

"It was not Gandalf." He seemed tetchy and unwilling to discuss it, but the subject really needed to be aired. I had a right to know all this, damn it! I was his wife!

"Then who was it? One of the Istari, I bet."

Thranduil exhaled pointedly and turned his face away.

"Am I right? Please – I'm your wife. You ought to be able to tell me anything."

Another exhalation was my reply, then he turned back to me.

"Very well," he said. "If you must know, it was Saruman."

"Aha, I was right." In my self-satisfaction, I forgot about the sober subject matter and clapped my hands. Noticing the gathering of Thranduil's epic eyebrows, I backtracked. "Sorry. Just...I know it's not funny or anything."

He inclined his head stiffly. "Saruman it was," he repeated.

"You need to watch him," I said, then I remembered the future clause, and added, "I mean, you know. Wizards. You want to watch them. Strange guys. Why did he banish you?"

"We quarrelled. I demanded a membership of the White Council and he refused to grant it."

I suppressed a chuckle. "You demanded it?" I said. "Perhaps that was where you went wrong. Perhaps you should have asked nicely."

"I do not care for your flippant tone," said Thranduil coldly. "When you address me, you should show respect."

Yikes. I was in trouble now.

"Is that what you said to Saruman?" I asked.

"It is no more than I am due," he continued, so icily that I felt my temperature drop by a degree or two. "I paid him the homage due a great wizard. I, in my turn, should have been accorded the homage due to a great warrior king. But he would not do so, and so we quarrelled."

"He dissed you."

"Your words do not make sense. I will not discuss the matter further until you treat it with the gravity it merits."

I sighed. "So you argued over the way he spoke to you? Pretty much as we are doing now?"

"Yes, and over his refusal to even petition the other members of the council about my becoming a member. It was my fault, I suppose. I should have approached Gandalf or Elrond first. But Elrond does not care for me either and Gandalf..."

"Not your biggest fan?"

"There is respect on both sides, but little in the way of warmth," he conceded.

"You're a bit of a lone wolf, then, out there in Middle Earth?"

"Elrond and I tolerate each other for political reasons, but I know he considers himself my superior." Thranduil all but ground his teeth. 

"Why didn't they want you on the White Council then?"

"They see my people as lesser than theirs; as mere whimsical wood-folk, content to drink our wine and whittle our sticks. Because we are hidden in forest, they forget that we exist. But we have suffered more than most the ravages of Sauron. We should be represented. It is infamy that we are not!"

He struck the ground hard with a fist.

"So, when Saruman banished you, what did he say exactly?"

Thranduil pouted for a while before muttering, "He said I should learn humility."

I almost laughed. How funny that I had had the very same thought not long since.

"He said perhaps I would find it far away from Middle Earth, where I would see how all our actions had influenced the future. Then he warned me that, if I ever wished to return, I must not seek information about what was to come in my own life."

"But he didn't say anything about how long you might be here?"

"No. And he also said something about my having been alone for too long, and being overly accustomed to my own ways. I suppose that was on my mind, when I met you."

"He said that? So perhaps he was trying to help, in a way," I suggested, though I had a feeling it wouldn't be a popular view. "Perhaps he hoped you'd...hook up."

"Hook up?"

"Meet somebody. And you did."

"Yes. That much is true. This banishment has not been entirely worthless as an experience."

_Wow, thanks_!

"But I will still insist on a place on the White Council when I am recalled."

"Oh dear," I said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, it's obvious they don't want you in their little clique. So stuff 'em. Let them get on with it. Go back to Mirkwood and have a big party."

"Why should I be ignored when the destiny of my own people depends on the defeat of Sauron?"

"Because they won't change their minds. It's like when I was at school and all the cool kids didn't invite me to their parties because I was a geek who was into science fiction and fantasy. I made up my mind that their parties were lame anyway, and just got on with my own thing. It was for the best."

"I fail to the see the parallel," said Thranduil. "This is not the matter of some youths at a party. This is the destiny of my people."

"Well, yes. I suppose it is different." I laid my head on his chest and shut my eyes. 

"But I am sorry you were ill-treated," he said quietly, running his fingers through my hair. "I would have words to say to these 'cool kids' of whom you speak."

Ah, how lovely that would have been. I slid, smiling, into a fantasy of Thranduil turning up at school and drawing his sword on the vapid bitches in 11G.

"And I wish I could give Saruman a piece of my mind," I countered, once he had sent the 11G girls screaming and wetting themselves through the corridors of the imaginary school. "I'd tell him to let you in."

"I wish he would listen to you."

"Do you know, perhaps he would." I lifted my eyes to Thranduil's. "Because I know stuff about him."

"You cannot seek to change the future," he reminded me. "Even when you are in the past."

"That's a shame. I do see your point. They should have you on the White Council. Those Rivendell guys aren't the only elves in town."

"Indeed," he said, mollified at last, thank God. I was in no condition to cope with Thranduil in a strop.

I thought it best to leave the subject now, while we were still friends, rather than pursue any of the other questions in my mind, even though there were still so many. His apparent intention to take me back to Middle Earth was at the very front of the queue. But it could wait...the banishment might last for years...there was time...

I nodded off, lulled in the safety of his arms, and when I woke up, there was a cold, pale light creeping over the clearing.

"Wake up, my love," whispered Thranduil. "The time has come to find your people."


	11. Emotional Elf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas season is over but my tale is not yet told - there might be a little longer between updates, but I'll keep adding chapters when I can.

If I had expected daylight to turn the forest from a creepy wilderness to a cheerful sylvan scene, my expectations would have been crushed. It was no less desolate by the first rays of dawn than it had been all night.

But Thranduil's silvery locks, shining ahead of me on the path, were more inspiriting than the Boxing Day sun and I followed him faithfully, wincing now and again when my triple-socked feet trod on a sharp stick or pine cone, and recoiling from the spider-webbed brambles that caught themselves in my hair. We were now so deep into the wood that the path had disappeared and our route consisted of circling the biggest tangles and thickets in order to proceed further.

"We've been walking for half an hour and nothing―"

My words of complaint were cut short by an urgent wave of his hand in front of me. Had he heard something?

He used the waving hand to grab my wrist and pull me in close.

"What?" I whispered.

"There is movement," he whispered back.

"Birds? Animals?"

"No. Keep silent." He put his hand on his sword and stood, stiff and sentinel-like, with the points of his ears pricked. Although I suppose you could say they were permanently pricked really. Even more so now, though.

A loud rustle came from somewhere to our left, then it was behind us, then it was further away and to our right – but nothing could be seen.

"It must be a bird," I said, slightly pleadingly, because it was what I was hoping for, but then something happened to blow that theory out of the water.

Unless birds were adept with crossbows, that was.

Thranduil pulled me suddenly down, just in the nick of time to avoid the arrow that whistled through the air above us and embedded itself in the nearest tree.

"Who is there?" he called, standing back up and unsheathing his sword to hold it aloft. 

The sun, sending a few weak beams through the overgrowth, bounced its beams off the blade's gleaming silver.

"Be careful," I agonised, but it seemed Thranduil had done the right thing, because no more arrows flew in our direction.

There were several beats of extremely intense silence, then the creak of a bough right above our heads was succeeded by the light-footed landing, a few yards distant, of a small redheaded figure in a tunic made of skins or furs.

"You are Elven," said the figure in some surprise.

"As are you," said Thranduil. "This surprises you?"

"I do not know you," he said, for he seemed to be a boy of about eleven or twelve. "I know everybody in this wood, yet I do not know you. Who are you?"

"I am Thranduil, Elven-King of Greenwood the Great. Who, might I ask, are you?"

The boy laughed but he lowered his bow, which he had held to his chest in a defensive kind of way.

"A king? We already have one of those. I'm Heolas, his son. Who are you really?"

"I have told you who I am. Lead me to your father."

The boy laughed again, then pointed the end of his bow at me.

"Who's she?"

"This is my queen, Catiel."

I must say, I quite liked being introduced in this way. It made me want to give the boy a limp-handed little royal wave. But I refrained.

"Why are you here?"

"I will answer your father's questions, when I meet with him," said Thranduil. "Until then, I would appreciate the courtesy due to a visiting monarch."

Heolas shook his head, apparently still sceptical.

"The boy is stupid," muttered Thranduil. "Were I his father I should be quite ashamed to claim him as my own."

"Oh, give him a break," I said. "We might be literally the first elves from outside his community he has ever seen."

"That's true," Heolas said, nodding at me. "What she says is true. We believed there were no other elves than us in all of Britain."

"I have travelled very far," said Thranduil. "And I am tired. Please."

"All right," said the boy. "My father would want to meet you, I suppose. But you must put your sword away."

Thranduil obliged and we followed the boy still deeper into the wood, until very little sunlight indeed penetrated the scene and it was easy to believe no human foot had ever trod the leaf-strewn ground.

At length we came to a giant and venerable tree whose twisted roots lay like a sculpture of snakes across yards of the forest floor. Somewhere amidst this mass of tangled wood was set a little arched door, hidden behind some foliage which the boy pulled aside to rap on the polished wood.

Voices called indistinctly from within.

"Heolas," he said. "But – hold – I am not alone."

We listened as he described us to whoever stood guard on the other side.

He turned back to us.

"He has gone to question his superior," he said. He hesitated then looked hard at me. "How did you find us?" he said. "You look like one of us. But he doesn't."

Thranduil held out the carved squirrel. "We found this," he said. "In the trunk of a tree."

Heolas took it and held it to his eye.

"Nice," he said. "I had some like these when I was younger."

"How old are you now?" I asked.

"Oh, only three hundred and seven," he replied. 

A mere whippersnapper.

"Are there many of you, in there?" I was fighting to stay calm, trying not to let the thought that my parents might be inches away from me take over and throw me into emotional turmoil.

"We are several hundred," he said. "No more. Our numbers are lower than they used to be, and will probably fall still further."

"Why is that?"

"The sickness," he said simply.

Before either of us could enquire further, there was movement behind the door and Heolas bent to take a message.

"They say to excuse us," he said, reporting back, "but they find it hard to believe there are elves who are not known to us out here. They have sent for my father."

Thranduil bowed his head. "That is only right and proper," he said.

"Tell me about this sickness," I said, not at all confident about entering a possible plague pit.

"It is not so much a sickness as... I don't know what to call it. It is what my people call it when an elf and a human...you know..."

"Get together?" I suggested.

"Yes. Sometimes elves find their way out and meet humans and...then they're lost to us. They can't ever come back."

"What if they want to?"

The boy looked horrified. "You don't mean you think they should be allowed? It's disgusting. My father thinks banishment too good for them, in fact. He would have them killed, if the council would approve it."

"Ah," I said, my mind working overtime. Did this mean my parents – at least the elven one of them – would not be found here? But if not, who was responsible for the carved ornaments? Were they, after all, red herrings?

"Well, would _you_ do it?" he asked. "With a _human_?"

I stole a glance at Thranduil, who looked paler than ever, but had drawn himself to his full height, as if expecting a challenge.

Fortunately, neither of us was called upon to reply to this, as the door was flung open and a party of elves spilled out, joining Heolas. Six of them, in embroidered tunics and woollen leggings, stood in flanks of three on either side of the door, their eyes sternly fixed ahead. None of them so much as looked at us. You'd think they'd have been curious.

Once everyone was arranged in the most orderly possible configuration, a tall, red-haired man strode out, a gold-threaded cloak billowing out behind him. My powers of observation told me he must be the king. Or was it the crown he wore? 

Either way, his demeanour reminded me very strongly of somebody I knew. He raised proud grey eyes to Thranduil and extended a beringed hand.

"Approach," he said, "and let me look at you. My messengers tell me you claim royal blood."

"I do more than claim it," said Thranduil, the customary low-level hauteur switched to full beam. "I am of older and nobler blood by far than you can possibly realise."

He did not accept the local king's invitation to take his hand and swear fealty or make obeisance or whatever these elves did with each other's kings. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and lifted his chin high enough to leave nobody in any doubt that offence had been taken.

The other king was visibly nonplussed, although he did his best to hide it, tossing his leonine mane and taking a step forward.

"What is your blood?" he said.

"I am Thranduil, son of Oropher."

The other king frowned.

"Son of... Forgive me, but the only Thranduil, son of Oropher, with whom I am familiar is the legendary Elven-King of the Second and Third ages. I suppose you name yourself in his honour?"

"I do not name myself in his honour," said Thranduil coldly. "I am him."

The other king looked flummoxed for a moment, then he broke into low, sardonic laughter.

"Ah, we have a lost one," he said. "I have heard that the wanderers eventually run mad."

Thranduil unfolded his arms and crossed them on his chest, before bowing his head and taking a few steps forward.

The guards drew swords and seemed to await the order to attack. I started after Thranduil, trying to pull him back, but before he reached the king he fell to his knees and said, "If I am mad, then but lay your hands upon my brow and you will know it."

The king raised an eyebrow and shot a suspicious look at me.

"What knavery is this? Do you know, elleth?"

"He speaks the truth," I said. "Do as he says."

The other king seemed unwilling, but something about Thranduil – the mere force of his presence, most likely – drew him closer until, with a sharp, grudging impulse that looked absurdly dramatic, he laid his hands on Thranduil's snowy brow.

It was fascinating to see the change that came over his face. A mild sneer changed to shock, swiftly followed by a kind of horrified shame.

"My lord," he breathed, falling on to his own knees. "Forgive me."

Thranduil, clearly loving his moment of triumphant vindication, rose to his feet and gave the assembled company a long, encompassing look. Heolas's mouth was wide open, while the guards were modelling shiftiness very effectively.

"Kneel before him," urged the king, and with one accord, they did so.

"You may rise," drawled Thranduil.

"Forgive me," said the other king again, scrambling upright. "I thought you long in Valinor. It is an honour...a most unexpected honour..."

"Yes, I am sure it is, but you have not told me your name."

"Forgive me," said the king, whose vocabulary now apparently consisted only of these two words. It was really time he started mixing it up a little. "I am Vinwil, King of the Elvish Britons. You have met my son, Heolas."

"Indeed I have. He tried to shoot me."

"Please accept my most heartfelt apologies, my lord." He aimed a filthy look at poor Heolas, whose lower lip began to wobble.

"He could not have known who we were," I chipped on on the unfortunate boy's behalf.

The two kings ignored me while they performed some complex ritual of greeting that seemed to revolve around neither one admitting inferiority to the other. Once that was over, Vinwil bowed to me.

"And might I ask your name, my lady?"

"She is Catiel, my queen," said Thranduil, before I could decide what I was going to say.

"Your queen? The mother of Legolas?"

He bowed still lower, but Thranduil merely took my arm and walked with me between the rows of guards.

"No," I said.

Vinwil straightened and eyed me curiously, but he seemed to realise that any further questioning would be poor form, and dodged in front of Thranduil.

"I extend the hospitality of the Elvish Britons," he said, a mite sulkily. "You are most welcome. Please break your fast with us. Heolas, fetch your mother to the dining hall."

I was agog at what I found inside the arched door among the roots. Thranduil escorted me along a walkway and into something that rather resembled a wooden shopping mall, cut out of the earth. There were different levels and mezzanines everywhere, and balconies and regal staircases. Despite being way underground, it was not dark – way up at the highest points were great round windows that let in the sun, while the lower levels were lit by some form of power – probably not electricity but perhaps some other sustainable source. I could see Thranduil trying to puzzle it out every time he came across some relatively new example of elven technology, but he didn't ask Vinwil any questions. Foolish pride, most likely.

As we traversed the underground realm, we were the constant objects of elvish curiosity, as a succession of ethereal auburn-haired characters prostrated themselves before us then hurried away, whispering to each other.

"There will be feasting tonight," said Vinwil, leading us into a large chamber dominated by a vast round table. "I will call a celebration. Please, seat yourselves."

We sat down and were immediately served earthenware bowls of some kind of brown gruel. I didn't want to be rude, but I caught Thranduil's eye when I thought Vinwil wasn't looking and grimaced at my bowl.

"Eat it or our host will take offence," he said softly.

"But what is it?"

"Acorn porridge, I suspect. I have not seen it made so weak as this before."

I dipped my spoon in and stirred it unenthusiastically, stalling by making conversation.

"So your queen will join us for breakfast?" I said, reaching for a jug of some kind of dark red juice.

"Yes, she will be most interested to meet you," said Vinwil. "She has never met... Please excuse me, Lord Thranduil, but your queen is not the mother of Legolas?"

"I took a second wife after her death," said Thranduil. 

"The history books do not mention..."

"The history books contain many omissions," he said, with a slightly dangerous edge to his voice that helped throw Vinwil off the subject.

"They do indeed. For the name of your first wife is not recorded either. But are you truly the Thranduil who fought so valiantly in the War―"

Thranduil held up his hand. 

"I must ask you to refrain from recounting my own history to me."

"Oh...why?"

"I have reasons which, at this time, I do not care to explain."

Vinwil was _not_ happy with this. Beams of hostility, almost tangible, zapped the air between the two pairs of royal eyes. The tension was dissipated by the arrival of Heolas with a lady in long robes of deep red.

"My lord," she said to Vinwil. "Our son tells me we have honoured guests."

God, yes, I was going to have to remember that thing about calling Thranduil 'my lord' now, wasn't I? I was already convinced Vinwil thought I was an imposter. Actually, _was_ I an imposter? I wasn't exactly secure in my elf identity yet.

A hell of a lot of bowing and laying on of hands and 'my lord' and 'my lady'ing followed, at the end of which we were finally able to sit back down. I was relieved for a moment, until I realised this meant I had to address myself to the acorn porridge again.

"And now, my lord Thranduil," said Vinwil, "I make so bold as to ask your reasons for gracing us with your visit. We are many ages away from your last appearance in the chronicles of our kind. I confess myself intrigued beyond measure."

"I am here not on my own behalf," said Thranduil, "but on behalf of my queen."

All eyes turned to me, at the exact moment I spat out a mouthful of the acorn porridge. How the hell was I supposed to style this out?

"Gruh. Sorry. Bit...not feeling too good, you know?" I mumbled, pushing the bowl away. Damn it. I was starving too. Mum would be frying up her famous Boxing Day bubble and squeak right about now. How cruel life could be.

Thranduil put a hand on mine, in a slightly threatening manner, it had to be said.

"Catiel," he murmured. "Remember your manners."

He couldn't mean he seriously expected me to eat that vomit, could he? He was worse than the dinner ladies at primary school when I cried into my boiled cabbage for forty minutes and they still wouldn't let me out to play.

All the same, I couldn't quite bring myself to tell him where to shove his acorn muck, so I heaved a sigh and picked up my spoon once more.

"This is _lovely_ ," I said falsely. "Do you have any eggs?"

Thranduil gave the back of my hand a pinch, but I didn't care, because one of the maids had scurried off to see about granting my request.

"What could your queen possibly want with us?" asked Vinwil's wife, Eludin. "Honoured though we are, to have caught your attention."

"Well, it's like this," I said, clearing my throat, but Thranduil spoke quickly over me, drowning my words.

"She seeks knowledge of her lineage," he said. "She has reason to believe that her ancestry contains Elvish Britons."

"Ancestry?" I said, confused. "This isn't some genealogy project, er, my lord. I'm here to find my mother."

The dish of eggs, rushed in by the maid who'd left before, clattered to the floor.

The king rose to his feet and the queen covered her mouth with her hands. As for Thranduil, he raised his eyes to the arched ceiling above and heaved a mighty sigh.

Oh dear. I appeared to have put my foot in it.


	12. Elf Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure why this is showing as chapter 12, when I thought it was 11? Hmm. Anyway...a new chapter, no matter what the number!

"I do not take your meaning," said Vinwil, after an ice age of silence. "You think your mother lives among us?"

"Well...it's not unlikely..." I said, looking to Thranduil for help, but finding him quite absorbed in the finer points of his fingernails.

"No elleth would willingly separate from her child until the day of that child's marriage," continued Vinwil. "And as we have no memory of giving an elleth in marriage to King Thranduil..."

Vinwil inhaled mightily, eyeing both Thranduil and I with extreme suspicion.

"You are not one of us," said Eludin. "You have never been so. We would remember you."

"If you will make allowance," Thranduil broke in, rising to his feet, "I should like a word with my wife in private. Is there a chamber prepared for us?"

"But of course," said Vinwil. "It is an honour to have you here. I will have a servant guide you."

But Vinwil looked anything but honoured, the smooth words proceeding from exceptionally tight lips.

"I appreciate your hospitality," said Thranduil, with that elven head tilt they all seemed so fond of. "We will rejoin you in due course. Please continue your meal in our absence."

An orgy of polite head tilts followed until Thranduil, perhaps having cricked his neck, took a sharp hold of my wrist and whirled me from the room.

"What's the big...?"

But I was too breathless to finish the sentence, trotting along at Thranduil's side, and had to be content to wait until the maid had shown us into an airy chamber containing a huge round bed, some ornately carved trunks or boxes, and very little else.

Thranduil took a stance opposite me, bent to my level, and began doing very odd things to the sides of my head with his fingertips, staring intently at me, until I managed to duck away, shielding myself against more of this treatment.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He reached out for me, pulling me back into his orbit with a none too gentle touch.

"I am trying to ascertain that you have not lost your wits," he hissed.

"I see," I said, though I didn't. "And have I?"

"Apparently not, though one must wonder."

"Must one?"

"Catiel, have you forgotten what the boy said, while we waited to gain entrance? About the sickness? About the king's opinion of mixing with humans?"

"Well, no, but how else am I supposed to find out the truth?"

"Catiel, in my time and my realm, I have seen a great deal of war, but more of peace. And very frequently, that peace is the fragile result of something called diplomacy. It may have died out in your time, but perhaps you have heard of it?"

"Don't patronise me! Of course I have." Although it occurred to me he might genuinely believe the diplomatic arts had been abandoned in our age, so perhaps I shouldn't accuse him.

"You have? Good. Then perhaps you will understand that the blunt approach is not always the best."

His hands were on my arms now, and I was starting to get that feeling again. Dear lord, would it ever strike me at a convenient time? Would there ever be a convenient time again?

I tried to shut it out of me by looking away from Thranduil and wriggling my shoulders a bit, but it remained there, a constant background force, growing slowly and steadily, for the rest of the exchange.

"So what do you suggest, then? If I can't be up front about who and what I really am? Am I supposed to lie?"

"I think it best if you let me speak," he said. "A king will listen to a king. Alas, he will not always pay a consort the same courtesy."

"Well, that's very sexist, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure what you mean. What has the marriage bed to do with all this?"

Oh _God_ , why did I have to mention sex? Now he was leaning into me, all warm breath and seductive scent.

"Quite...a lot...I imagine," I said, the words coming between ever stronger waves of longing. "Since I must be the product of a...a...oh God."

His fingers fluttered on my sleeves, his lips close to my skin, his hair brushing my face.

"Of what?" he whispered.

"Of an elf and a human...together..."

I wanted to think, but every other sense in my body was jamming my brain with an intense consciousness of Thranduil's nearness. 

Desperately, I looked back at him and pleaded, "Stop it!"

"Stop it? Stop what?"

"Stop making me..."

The world went upside-down and giddy, and somehow I was on the bed, on my stomach, with Luke Hales' ugly fleece flung somewhere far away. Thranduil hovered over me like a very attractive helicopter, manipulating me, rag doll style, into whichever position he was interested in trying out this time.

We tangled like cat's cradles, always seeming to resolve our limbs into perfect configurations before coming together with ferocious impact, time and again. I was underneath him, then on top of him, then finally on my side with him behind me, one of his legs over my thigh while he eased into me, slowly and sweetly, his head raised so his hair spilled all over my face.

It was like the most delicate dessert after several very spicy courses. We had bitten and thrashed and pulled each other's hair for long enough. Now it was time to tell the bond to get lost and let us just enjoy each other at a pace our bruised bodies could manage.

I reached up and touched his face, my shaking palm crossing his mouth, collecting kisses as it passed. He took my hand and placed it, with his own, between my legs, making me rub myself there as he continued his unhurried but determined campaign inside me.

"I should like to feel what you feel," he whispered. "I should like to know what I do to you."

"I wish you could," I moaned, drawing closer to the edge.

"I will, one day," he said, which served to distract me a little from my impending orgasm.

"What?"

"It can be done. There is old magic. But not now."

My answer to this was a shuddering breath as the pleasure spilled out of me. The thought of him knowing what he did to me was curiously exciting – especially if I could experience the converse. I wondered how many other little tricks Thranduil might have up his heavily embroidered sleeve. Whatever else he might be, I could never accuse him of being boring in bed.

He held me tight, making low throaty sounds as his own climax took him, then relaxed his grip and fell heavily back on the bed.

I propped myself up, marvelling at how I was still capable of movement, and looked down at his lovely face, still marble-white apart from two little stains of red along each razor-sharp cheekbone and the dark shadow of his eyelashes. He made me want to sculpt him. But I'd never even mastered play-doh, so that wasn't really on the cards.

Shagging him half to death would have to do.

His eyes still shut, he reached up, instinctively finding my face with his palm.

"You have sapped my strength, elleth," he said. "I have no memory of what we did before this."

Neither did I, for a moment, then my surroundings came back into focus, along with the recollection of the breakfast and Vinwil and my diplomatic faux pas.

"Vinwil will be waiting for us," I said, biting my lip. "Or perhaps they've given up. We've been rather a while..."

"He will wait, unless elven courtesy has fallen into ruin," said Thranduil, half-opening his eyes with some effort. "If he has left the table, then I shall certainly judge him lacking."

"Thranduil," I said, mesmerised by the way his glazed eyes cleared, then focused, then directed all their considerable power at me. "Will it always be this way?"

"What do you mean?"

"Between us. Will we always be..."

He smiled, rather louchely.

"For as long as you wish it, my lady," he said. "Which I hope to be a very long time."

"For as long as _I_ wish it?"

"Yes. For I cannot touch you if you do not."

"What a very...enlightened...system," I said wonderingly.

"Is it not so for humans?"

"Not at all." 

He sat up, running hands through his unfairly unmussed hair.

"But we must discuss this at another time," he said. "It is poor manners to keep Vinwil waiting, but if I explain about the bond, he will understand."

"Oh no, please don't!"

"You would have him think us boorish company?"

"No, but..."

Thranduil did the 'silence!' hand wave I was becoming annoyingly familiar with, pulling on robes as he rose from the bed. This was when I noticed the gown hanging on the back of the door; a beautiful dress in a rich forest green.

"Do you think this is for me?" I asked, going over and stroking its deep velvet pile.

"I imagine so," he said. "Put it on."

I did, and was amazed at how it skimmed my figure, making me look all...womanly. Not my usual style at all – I was a jeans and hoodie kind of girl - but I was all boobs and hips in this and, when I looked in the mirror, I liked it. I liked it a lot. In fact, I couldn't take my eyes off myself.

And I wasn't alone.

"Turn to me," said Thranduil, and when I did, he all but growled, striding forwards to place a hand on my waist. "This is better," he said.

"You like it?"

"Now I see the elven blood in you," he said. "And my own blood heats in turn." He slid his hand over the curve of my thigh, making my bosom rise and fall like a maiden in a bad bodice ripper.

"Thranduil," I whispered, making a heroic effort to remember we weren't here to have non-stop sex. "The king. Is waiting."

"Ah," he said, withdrawing his hand sharply. "Indeed."

He adjusted his sword belt with a rather pained expression and took my arm.

"Let us return. And remember, Catiel, the talking must be left to me."

Ah yes. That was where our conversation had ended before. And now I didn't have time to argue against this decision. Stupid bloody bond.

But perhaps it was for the best. Thranduil knew the form – I didn't. And none of us could predict what might happen if Vinwil found out I had human blood. If I _did_ have human blood. Did I even know that much about myself?

On arriving back at the breakfast table, there was good news and bad news. The good news: the acorn porridge had been removed. The bad news: the eggs had completely congealed. I contented myself with a drink of warm milk with nutmeg and let Thranduil do all the apologising for our prolonged absence.

"You had much to discuss," said Vinwil blandly, though it was obvious he was miffed at having had to wait so long for us.

"Yes," agreed Thranduil. "And we are but two days married into the bargain."

I cringed and looked down into my lap as all the adults present exchanged significant looks. How marvellous to know that everyone in the room understood the exact reason for my high colour and slight shortness of breath. 

"Many congratulations," said Eludin, smiling at me. "Those early days of marriage are long in the past for us now, but I well remember them."

"You spoke, before you left us, of a quest to find a missing mother," said Vinwil, moving my emotions on from toe-curling embarrassment to heart-in-mouth excitement. "Do you care to elaborate?"

"Forgive my wife," said Thranduil, at which I bristled. Forgive me? For what? "She is very tired from the long journey..."

He left a beat of silence for everybody to use for knowing smirks. Git.

"...and perhaps she did not state her case as clearly as she might have done."

I wanted to kick him under the table, but he was slightly too far away.

"Then please," said Vinwil, "elucidate the matter for us."

"My queen discovered recently that a distant branch of her family may have its origins here in your British realm. She determined to enquire after these old relations, and I considered it a happy thought, as it gives us the opportunity to forge new bonds between our kingdoms which may, in time, prove fruitful."

"Ah, I see," said Vinwil. "An alliance, you think?"

"Precisely. You are, if you will forgive the observation, a little isolated here. Surrounded on all sides by humans, whose numbers seem to expand as rapidly as yours dwindle. It seems to be that you might value a friend."

Vinwil considered this for a moment.

"Perhaps we would," he said. 

"Then we must set aside time to discuss a treaty," suggested Thranduil. "But in the meantime, my wife is eager to pursue her enquiries. She is curious to know whether you have lost any elves in more recent years."

"By more recent, you mean...?"

Thranduil frowned a little at this, and drew his chair close to mine, in order to speak privately to me.

"I do not know your age," he said. "When were you born?"

"I'm nineteen," I said, and he dropped the cup he had been holding, spilling aromatic herbal tea all over the table and his robes. His face was a mask of pure horror.

"Do you mean..." he whispered after a shocked pause. "Nineteen _hundred_?"

"No. I was born nineteen years ago. Well, twenty this spring."

"But...you are no more than an elfling! What have I done? What am I guilty of?"

"Oh!" I understood at once the reasons for his appalled reaction. "No. Thranduil. Don't worry. Humans mature at a much faster rate than elves. Honestly, I'm an adult female. You haven't done anything wrong."

"Excuse us," said Thranduil to Vinwil, recovering his composure once the maid had cleared up the spillage. "I am less familiar with my wife's history than perhaps I should be. But we wonder if you have suffered many losses over the last twenty years."

"You ask of losses," said Vinwil. "Do you suppose that your wife is related to one of our sick?"

"It is possible," said Thranduil.

"Then I advise her to put an end to her enquiries," said Vinwil. "For no good can come of knowing that you have a lost one in your family. Better to continue in ignorance than bear such shame."

"Excuse me," I said, ignoring Thranduil's Hand of Silence. "But I can't agree with that. If I have a family member who is lost, I want her found. I want to help her."

The Hand of Silence was joined by a Glare of Doom. I persisted in my ignoring of both.

"My queen is young," said Thranduil tightly, "and idealistic. She has some fanciful idea of opening communications with the humans."

"Then might I suggest, my lord," said Vinwil, his voice low with suppressed anger, "that you use your influence to disabuse her of such notions. I cannot speak for your realm, but in mine there will never be any fellowship with humans. We have suffered too much from their greed for land and power."

"Not all humans are bad," I said, in a last-ditch attempt to open the discussion up, but Vinwil was having none of it, and Thranduil seemed inclined to agree with him!

"My lady, let us close the subject for the moment," said Thranduil, brooking no argument. "The time is not right for this matter."

"But―"

"It is not right," he said, so firmly that I didn't dare make another attempt. I folded my arms and glowered instead. That'd show 'em.

The conversation turned instead to the evening's feast and the terms of possible future peace treaties. I made not a single contribution to any of it, and when we left, to take a tour of the 'glories of the realm', I walked at Thranduil's side in injured silence, barely able to take in any of the sights and sounds around me.

"Are you sulking, Catiel?" he said, as we stood on a high platform overlooking the most intricately-engineered saw mill I had ever seen. His hand touched mine and I snatched it away. "Oh, you are."

"You could have stood up for me," I muttered, holding my hand to my face, trying to stave off the strange desire to kiss it where Thranduil's fingers had touched it.

"There was no use. Vinwil is too set against the mixing of elvish and human blood. We would have succeeded only in angering him."

"Vinwil is a jerk," I said, then I looked quickly around to make sure nobody had heard me. Phew. They hadn't.

"Do not speak so of an elven-king," said Thranduil sternly. "I will not have it."

"Oh, so you agree with his horrible prejudices against humans, do you? Despite having married half of one?"

"I neither agree nor disagree," he said. "I will be honest and say that I could wish you were fully elven. It would be so much the better for my family line."

I stared at him in mute dismay. 

"You won't be _having_ a family line, if that's your attitude," I hissed, once I'd found my breath. "Once this stupid bond thing is done and we can live apart, I'm going straight back to mum and dad. Excuse me," I said, barging past the little crowd of courtiers hemming us into our place on the platform. "I'm not well. I'm going to my chamber."

And I ran into the heart of the underground maze, having no idea where I was going or if I would ever find a way out.


	13. An Elfy Attitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for lovely and illuminating comments - I was particularly delighted to have my Thranduil described as an 'irresistible swine' by Malinornë. That's exactly what he is! And Genevieve, your mention of a confidante for Katie was curiously prescient... Read on and I hope you enjoy!

It wasn't an easy place to find your way around, that was for sure. I kept coming back to the same chamber, a kind of giant vestibule with a nexus of stairways and corridors and service chutes and all sorts of stuff proceeding from it.

At the third time of reappearing there, I sat down on a beautifully-carved bench by the grandest of the staircases and buried my head in my hands.

I didn't know whether I was relieved or upset that Thranduil hadn't come after me. But of course, he didn't need to. He well knew that the bond would bring me back of my own accord. I was already aware of a faint nausea at the back of my throat.

It would get worse, and then I would have to go back to him. Back to the husband who considered me inferior, and had only married me to get a spare heir in case it was all up with Legolas.

Speaking of which – oh God. The realisation was a bucket of cold water in the face. I had no pills. They were back at home and...what with Christmas Eve and Day being what you might call full-on, I was pretty sure I'd forgotten to take them.

Elves of all stations milled around me in my misery, side-eyeing me then politely ignoring me to go about their business. I put a hand to my stomach. Could I be...?

It wasn't exactly unlikely. 

My head spun with the implications of this situation. Thranduil would never let me leave if I had his child. And besides, I didn't want to leave him. The words, spoken in anger, about going back to mum and dad's seemed terribly hollow now, because at the very heart of me I had a powerful and unshakable sense that we belonged together. Our bond had altered my sense of self so that he was all tied up in it. It had been an empty threat, and I bet he knew it. Damn him.

"Catiel."

I looked up sharply. The voice that spoke my elvenised name was not Thranduil's, so my heart did not quicken as it would have done. It was a female voice, and when I located its source, I saw that it was the British queen, Eludin.

"Oh," I said, starting to get up, but she shook her head and came to sit beside me.

"Stay," she said. "Let us talk, while we are in private."

It was hardly private – it was a bit like the elven equivalent of Piccadilly Circus, in fact – but now Eludin was here, the passing traffic gave us a wide berth so we were in no danger of being overheard.

"Are you...are the others still on their tour?" I asked.

She smiled and bowed her head.

"Your husband and mine have entered into a heated debate on the subject of labour laws and taxation. I think they will be occupied with it for quite some time. They will not miss me."

"Oh, right," I said. "I wonder who will win."

"My husband does not like to be challenged," said Eludin.

"No? That's funny, because neither does mine."

"And history tells us that he rarely lost in battle," she said. "I hope Vinwil has his wits about him today."

We exchanged less formal smiles and I laughed a little, pleased to have something close to a confidante – even though I wasn't sure how much I could tell her.

"It is strange and very special," Eludin continued, "to be in his presence. None of us could ever have foreseen such a rare honour."

"He's a bit of a hero around here, then?"

"Oh, surely you know better than anyone his reputation, and how he is revered. Only his son Legolas stands in higher regard."

"Yes. Good old Legolas," I said, feeling a strong jolt in my stomach. I was going to have to get back to Thranduil soon enough.

"You must count yourself supremely fortunate," she said, "to be the wife of such a great king."

I gave her a vivid look. Did she have a crush on him or something? Not that I would blame her. All the same...

"We haven't known each other long," I admitted in a low voice. "We are still getting to know each other really. And we are very different...our backgrounds are so very different..." I stopped, not knowing how much more I dared say.

"But he has chosen you. You must be the most envied elleth of your realm." She smiled again, with a bit of a twinkle in her eye.

"Well, he's not exactly horrible to look at," I said with a self-conscious giggle.

"Not exactly!" she exclaimed. "He is like a star made flesh. I have never seen his equal. Of course, we are all redheads here, like you."

"He is very beautiful," I agreed. "I often feel a bit drab in comparison."

"Oh, but you have seen the way he looks at you, my lady. I will confess, it reawakens old memories of the early days of my own marriage. He is every bit as bound to you as you are to him."

I gave her a wobbly smile. "Do you really think so? I sometimes wonder whether he has real...real feelings...for me."

She squeezed my hand. "Do not doubt it. When I see what eyes he has for you, I am nostalgic for those days of my own bonding. I had thought Vinwil and I past such considerations, but perhaps he will recall them too."

"Have you been married ages then?"

"More than a thousand years, and with many more to come, I hope. But Thranduil is surely the oldest elf who ever eluded Valinor. We had no idea he still walked among us. History tells us nothing of his later life."

"Well, you know what those history books are like," I said. I was feeling a little giddy – part sickness, part a warm feeling provoked by Eludin's words. She really thought Thranduil loved me and, as a proper elf, she was probably better qualified to judge.

"Indeed, for we have read nothing of you," said Eludin in a lower voice. "It is a source of constant frustration to me that the elleth are so poorly represented in our histories."

"Yeah, same here," I said. "You'd think Lady Galadriel and Arwen were the only female elves ever. And as for the dwarves, where the hell did they come from? Did they hatch out of eggs?"

Eludin looked somewhat nonplussed by this tangent, shifting slightly so that she wasn't so close to me as before.

"Sorry," I said. "Just thinking aloud." 

There was a slight pause, then Eludin placed a hand on one of mine.

"I must make apologies for the way Vinwil spoke earlier," she said, almost in a whisper. "He has suffered much at the hands of humans and will not hear a good word of them. I know that, in ages past, your husband joined forces with them upon occasion, and so you may have a different view, but here..."

She shook her head.

"And so I must counsel against making mention of the lady Arwen to him," she continued. "Her story is not one of Vinwil's favourites."

"Oh no, I suppose not," I said. "And you – do you feel as he does?"

She looked away for a moment before answering.

"I feel his pain," she said. "I understand why he holds such anger in his heart. But I do not always agree with... Pardon me, I should not speak so."

"No, please do," I said. "I don't always agree with Thranduil either. Although somehow he always seems to get his way."

Her smile was sad this time.

"Such is the nature of kingship," she said.

There was a long silence, then she spoke again, very quickly and quietly.

"There is somebody who might be able to tell you something...of what you wish to know."

"My...the lost ones?" I whispered, afraid to voice the word 'mother'.

She nodded.

"I will send them to your chamber, tonight, after the feast. But be careful. Nobody must know."

"I won't tell a soul," I said. "I promise."

We sat still and silent for a moment, then she stood, patting down her skirts with brisk palms.

"We should return," she said. "I expect you are starting to sicken."

She wasn't wrong. I had broken out in a cold sweat and my hands were shaking. The pit of my stomach seemed to tug me hard in the direction of Thranduil.

"I am," I said with resignation. I would have to face the music. Perhaps he'd give me a few arpeggios on the harp.

"I hope you did not quarrel?" she said, extending a hand to help me up. "So soon after your wedding."

"No, I, uh, just felt a little..."

She wasn't expecting me to pour out my heart, though. She didn't enquire further, but escorted me back to the saw mill with no further word about Thranduil or my mother, just some pleasantries about the weather and the things we saw en route.

Eludin had been correct in assuming she wouldn't be missed. Vinwil was still locking horns with Thranduil over something called the Second Artisanal Allowance, and it looked as if only a deathmatch would resolve the disagreement.

"My dearest lord," said Eludin in the most honeyed tones I had ever heard. "Our guests will want to prepare for the feast. Shall we take them to the Falls?"

Vinwil had to be dragged back into consciousness of the present outside his debate, but Thranduil recovered more quickly, his glance alighting on me straight away and staying there.

I held his gaze for a moment, trying to work out if he looked sorry for upsetting me. He didn't particularly, so I looked away again, tossing my head a bit, elven-style.

"Yes, the Falls," said Vinwil. "You will like them. Come."

He and Eludin led the way, leaving me no option but to take the arm Thranduil offered and follow them out of the saw mill.

I hesitated at first, but he put my hand upon his forearm and then held it there with his free hand so I couldn't move away. He said nothing – we couldn't speak without being overheard – but I had the distinct impression that he might have quite a lot to say once we were alone.

The Falls were breathtaking – a huge underground pool fed by crashing, foaming cataracts. The water, when we dipped our hands in to test it, was warmed by hot springs above and below.

"We invite you to bathe here," said Eludin. "Usually it is open to all, but we have reserved it for you today, so that you can enjoy its healing and cleansing properties in preparation for the great feast. You will see that fresh robes have been laid out for you, and all you might require is provided. If you should need anything more, please call for the serving elf who will be waiting by the gates."

"Just for us?" I said, gazing around at the wonderful scene. It was lit in such a way as to make the water shimmer like gold, while lilies and wild flowers floated on the surface. The rocks around and about held hundreds of candles, adding to the effect. As baths went, it was certainly fit for royalty.

"We will leave you now," said Eludin. "When you are ready for the feast, the serving elves will show you the way."

Vinwil exchanged a rather curt nod with Thranduil, and the whole group of royals and their minions swept away en masse, leaving us alone at the side of the water.

I tried to disengage from him, but he held on, threading my fingers through his so I had no recourse but to look at him.

He didn't say anything, just knitted his brows at me.

"What?" I said. I didn't want to be the first to speak. I wanted him to say he was sorry, to tell me that he didn't think of me as lesser than other elves.

"You are very young, Catiel," he said. "And you have much to learn about living among your elven kind."

Was that it? Was that his idea of...? He must have seen that I was about to flip my lid, though, because he spoke again quickly, and a little louder.

"Equally, I know very little about humans," he said. "I have fought alongside them, but never really known any. Their ways are as foreign to me as their speech."

This was a little less infuriating. I waited for him to continue, hoping he wasn't about to chuck me. Even though it had been me threatening to leave so very recently.

"I never expected to have to understand them," he said. "But circumstances are what they are. So perhaps I should try."

"You want me to pretend I'm not at all human," I said in a low voice, looking down at my reflection in the pool. God, those ears. I couldn't get used to them. "But I can't. I've lived all my life as a human, and I don't think you should despise me for it."

"I do not despise you," he said, rather angrily. "You should never think so. I wonder if sometimes you take offence to test me, Catiel. I will not be so tested."

"Of course I don't! What you said hurt me. I was hurt. OK?"

"Then I am sorry you felt so. But I spoke in honesty, and I will not apologise for that."

He led me down some steps to a little platform, at which some wooden boats with elegantly carved prows were moored.

He stepped into one and handed me in behind him, untying the rope that tethered the vessel in place.

Seated opposite one another, we drifted out on to the calm waters, still a long way from the waterfalls so that the flowers on the lake's surface did little but float without direction.

I looked him in the eye, trying to find whatever it was Eludin had seen in them. But to me he seemed remote and a bit pissed off. Perhaps that was the look of elven love. Perhaps I ought to practise it myself.

"Catiel," he said, letting his fingers drift in the water. "We have no idea how long we may have to remain here."

He made no reference to my threat to leave him. Obviously he hadn't believed a word of it. It was irritating beyond belief that he had been right not to.

"Do we have to? Remain here?" I said.

"It is by far the safest place to pass the time until I am called back," he said. "We are well-treated and among friends. If we leave this forest, I face all manner of peril."

True enough. It would be unfair to drag him back into the hostile human world. But what about me? What about my life? Was that the last I had ever seen of it, there in my grandad's allotment shed with that housebreaker?

It was too big and sobering a thought to properly contemplate.

"We could lie low until all the fuss dies down," I suggested. "The police will have forgotten all about you by New Year, I'm sure."

"We must stay here," he repeated. "Where there is a purpose for us both."

"A purpose?"

"For you, solving the mystery of your parentage. For me, saving the elves of this realm from their idiot of a king."

I laughed, then put my hand over my mouth.

"You don't rate Vinwil then?"

"He is oppressive of his subjects. Furthermore, he is extremely arrogant."

And now I really couldn't help laughing out loud.

"What is amusing? I have not even arrived at the subject of _your_ behaviour yet, my lady."

Uh oh. That sounded highly ominous.

"What do you mean?" I said. "I can't help the way I feel. I was hurt and upset. I've told you."

"You are entitled to your feelings, of course," he said. "But you are _not_ entitled to shame me in public by giving way to them."

"Well, then, don't say mean things to me!"

"I meant no offence in what I said. You chose to take it."

I gasped and dashed my hand against the water's surface.

"You said you wished I was a full elf. How was I supposed to feel?"

"I did not say I wished you were a full elf."

"Excuse me! You totally did!"

"I said," he hissed, leaning forwards with faintly lizardlike suddenness, "I _could have wished_ that you were. In other words, before having met you, it would have been my intention to take a full-blooded elleth, for many reasons, chief among them the desire to have my queen accepted by all. But the stars intervened and gave you to me, and there is no sense in wishing for anything other, so I do not."

His face was intimidatingly close to mine, so close that it was difficult to collect my thoughts on what he had said, or even quite understand it.

"Do you mean," I said, "that you never wanted to marry someone like me, but now you have, you're OK with it?"

"I mean, that the stars gave you to me, so you are the one I will take and keep and love for all time," he said.

God, how did he do this? I stood absolutely no chance against him. In an instant, I was as gushy and liquid as the golden waters that surrounded us.

He took my face in his hands and inclined it to the same angle as his own, making me look into his eyes until nothing else existed but their depthless brightness.

"Will you believe me now?" he whispered.

"Yes," I said.

"I hope so," he said. "And I hope you will behave as an elven-queen should, instead of storming off like a spoilt little elfling."

"I don't really know how," I said. "Will you teach me?"

"Of course," he said, and he let a sweet little kiss fall upon my lips before sitting back up and pulling me on to his lap, setting the boat rocking like a drunken sailor. "Perhaps I shall give you a lesson now."

Hmm, I had a feeling, from the way his hand toyed with the clinging velvet on my hips, what kind of lesson he had in mind, and it probably didn't involve courtly etiquette.

"Is this a lesson in how to behave in a boat on a lake with a king?" I asked, between kisses.

"It is indeed," he said. "I hope you are taking notes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh! So sorry to leave it like that, but I wanted to get a chapter up today and didn't have time to write more, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave Thranduil and Katie on the verge of getting up to all sorts for now. It'll be something to look forward to for the next instalment, anyway ;).


	14. Elf Spa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy there. It's Friday and here's an update, bit rushed, but I hope you like it.

Apparently the correct way to behave on a boat with a king was first to get naked, and second to rock the boat so much it capsized, tipping you both into the warm, mildly fizzing water.

I fell with a yelp and a splash, then swam towards the waterfall, pretending to try and get away from Thranduil, as if that could ever work. He had caught up with me before I was out of arm's length of the boat, and he hauled me over his shoulder, wading deeper in the direction of the falls, while I flapped like a fish, watching the boat drift out of sight.

We passed through crashing water then, at the other side, stood a smooth, curving ledge of shining dark rock, on which were ranged a row of divans in a fan-shape. Against the back wall was shelving, covered all over with glass bottles and fired clay containers.

"It's like a spa or something," I said, taking a good look around once Thranduil had lowered me down and perched me on the edge of the rock.

"Like a spa? It is a place where one may bathe and take leisure. We have similar at Mirkwood."

"Do you?"

"Better than this," he said, with a hint of affront, as if he thought I didn't believe him.

"I'm sure you have the best of everything," I said.

He climbed out of the water and went over to the shelves, selecting a jar of some greenish gloop and bringing it over.

"Come," he said, pulling me back into the water. "I will wash your hair."

We stood beneath the foaming jets of water and lathered each other up. He was very good at it, almost as good as a hairdresser at the head massage thing, and I dissolved into mindless pleasure beneath his fingers. But when it came time to return the favour, I snagged my nails and got my fingers hopelessly tangled and told him he had a ridiculous amount of hair and ought to get it cut. Which I didn't mean, of course.

"Humans cut their hair?" he said, as if I'd told him we routinely cut our throats. "Why?"

"Well...it's not as if you need it that long, is it? It's just a bit more convenient sometimes, for some people."

"But not for a king," he said. "A king with short hair would be a laughing stock."

"Would he really? And don't you ever get split ends?"

"Split ends? I do not know what you mean. And he most certainly would be a laughing stock. Would you really have me cut it?"

I shook my head. "No. Not really. I like it. But you'll have to get somebody else to wash it for you, because I don't seem to have the touch."

He took the bottle from me and sorted himself out.

"What's that made of?" I asked, curious to know. It smelled nice – very fresh and mildly herbal.

"I have no idea," said Thranduil loftily. "Plant extracts, I suppose. So – do you cut your hair?"

"God, yes. I've done a lot more than cut it. Dyed it, braided it, put heated rollers in it, you name it."

"You may not cut it again," he said, rinsing the suds off under the falls. 

I watched them slide down over his shoulders and chest before joining the rivulets of water that chased them away. It was a mesmerising sight.

"Really? Oh, but...it'll be a mess!"

"It will not. A queen, like a king, should never cut her hair."

Perhaps my hair now had elven properties, like my ears and my skin, and split ends would be a thing of the past. I could only hope so.

"Are there any other fashion and beauty rules I need to know?" I asked, a mite snarkily. "What's your position on false eyelashes? Nail varnish?"

"I am not aware of such adornments," he said. "There is, however, a law that a queen must be always undressed when in private company with her husband."

I stared at him, trying to work out if he was joking. It was impossible to tell with Thranduil; he had the pokeriest pokerface ever.

"Oh, there isn't!" I said.

He curled the corner of one lip.

"Not yet."

He put the bottle of shampoo stuff down on the ledge and beckoned me.

"What?" I said, unaccountably wary after this rare evidence of a sense of humour.

"Come to me," he said.

I went slowly towards him; he reached out and pulled me the rest of the way until I stood locked in his embrace, my neck craned up to read his face.

"You have made me feel things I had forgotten," he said. "I was yet a young ellon when...when my...when I was left alone..., and I had resigned myself to a life devoted to politics and the protection of my realm. For pleasure, I turned to the arts and the collecting of beautiful treasures. It is a wonder to me, to be here, with you. It is something I never foresaw."

My heart flip-flopped. He had been lonely, though he would probably never admit it. Legolas going AWOL could hardly have helped either. And as for the late wife, he couldn't even bring himself to say her name. All at once, I saw that some of the imperious manner could be a front for vulnerabilities he did not dare show. Only some of it, mind you.

"A wonder," I repeated. "Yes. I feel that way too. I have never, ever, known anyone like you. It still seems like a dream sometimes."

"We elves do not dream," he said. "Though I have heard of such things."

Actually, that was a funny thing, now he mentioned it. I had never once, in my entire living memory, recalled a dream. And my parents had been in despair about my insomnia ever since I was a little kid. Took me to the doctors, gave me melatonin, all sorts. But I just didn't really seem to need sleep in the way other people did, although I did sleep in short bursts when I was really exhausted. All this elvish blood explained a lot.

It had been annoying at school, though, when everyone was going on about their dreams. I used to make them up.

I was telling him all this, in an excited rush, because it was so novel to have somebody who understood this kind of thing, when he put a finger to my lips and bent closer.

"You can put all the troubles of the human world behind you," he said. "You are of the elven world now. And I will finish what I began to say in the boat. We do not know how long we must rely on Vinwil's hospitality, so let us have no more talk of human ancestry in his hearing. And no more quarrelling where we can be overheard. Do you mind me, Catiel? No more."

"Are you telling me off again? I can't help the way I feel. I'm only..."

_No I'm not. I'm not 'only human'. I'll never be able to say that again._

"I will do what I must to keep you safe," he said. "If you behave like a human, then I must do what I can to stop you. I hope you understand that."

"I should probably just keep my mouth shut then, eh?" I grumbled.

"If you think it best," he said, with no sign that hadn't taken the suggestion totally seriously. "Observe how I behave in elven company and take it as your example."

Despite my misgivings I couldn't suppress a smile at the idea of copying Thranduil around the place. But I supposed I would have to learn all the head-tilting and bowing and general sinuous slinking around before long. Klutziness didn't seem a particularly elven trait, and unfortunately my human half had always predominated when it came to grace and dexterity.

"I'll...try," I said.

Wordlessly, he led me out of the water to the divans, where we lay for an hour, slipping and sliding our wet skin all over each other. But it was different than usual; peaceful and slow and with a kind of mindfulness that made it almost trance-like. It was profoundly intimate, and as the link between us grew and strengthened, I admitted something to myself, something I hadn't really dared think until this moment.

_I love you._

"I know it," he said, once we had drawn the deepest pleasure out of each other and lay entwined and sapped. "But I am glad you have acknowledged it."

"Oh! Did I say...?"

He smiled and stroked my wet hair. "You forget already that you do not need to. Not when we are joined."

"Ah, God, I forgot. I'll never get the hang of being an elf."

"You will," he said, with a kiss. "Because you are. And an elven-queen at that."

I basked in the sweetness of the moment, glowing with more than the light of the thousand candles ranged around us. Then the mention of elven-queens reminded me of something.

"I spoke with Eludin earlier," I said. "She said she might be able to help find my mother."

Thranduil frowned. " _Eludin_ said so?"

"Yes. She said she would send somebody to our chambers after the feast. Is that a problem?"

"Either for us or for Vinwil," he said after some thought.

"Why?"

"It may be a trap. She may be acting on Vinwil's behalf, trying to dig deeper into your past in order to discredit us."

"Oh, I really don't think so! She seems really nice. And I don't think she's as anti-human as Vinwil anyway."

"That's a very human foible, my love," he said. "To be swayed by a kind word and a smile. You saw what she chose to show you. I have seen such traps set a thousand times. Sometimes I have set them myself."

"Why is it a foible to like a person?" I exclaimed.

"I did not say that," he countered. "I say only that you have not considered her advances from every angle."

I sighed. "It must make life complicated, having to be suspicious of everyone all the time."

"One gets used to it," he said implacably. "As a king, one must."

"Well, I think she was sincere. So there."

"If she was sincere, then I pity Vinwil."

"Oh, I don't think he needs your pity."

"If his wife acts in defiance of his deeply-held beliefs, then I think he does."

"But his deeply-held beliefs are bigoted and nasty."

"A queen should show only loyalty to her king," said Thranduil. In fact, he snapped it.

I had seen him angry, but in the past he had seemed to be riling himself up for effect, to impress me. I had never had any sense that he didn't have full control of himself. He seemed genuinely rattled now, though, which was uncharacteristic of him.

I could have responded in many different ways to his comment, the most tempting being vociferous disagreement, but the way he held himself rigid, as if defending himself against pain, stopped me.

Instead, I only repeated, "I think she means well."

"What you think is not germane. You know nothing of elves."

I sighed.

"Actually, sometimes I think I know all I _want_ to know."

I blanched beneath the look he gave me; at least, I think I did, if blanching is what I think it is. I couldn't take much of it, anyway, and turned to stand up.

"When is this feast, anyway? Where are those robes they mentioned?"

I wandered off to seek out the clothing Eludin had promised us, leaving Thranduil on the divan. When I looked back over my shoulder, he was staring out over the lake with a haunted expression.

"Did I upset you in some way?" I said tentatively, returning with the robes once I had located them. "I didn't mean to. I'm sorry for whatever it was." 

He looked at me as if he didn't recognise me for a moment, then shook his head briefly.

"No, no," he said, then he essayed a smile. "Are these the robes? I hope they will suit."

We set about dressing in silence, using the still waters of the lake as our mirror. The robes were beautiful, rich blue with gold embroidery and bits and bobs. I guessed they belonged to the king and queen themselves, as Eludin was somewhat taller than me and the hem of my skirt dragged along the floor. On the other hand, Vinwil's cloak ended just above Thranduil's ankles, which wasn't exactly ideal either. 

"I am not sure I care for this style," said Thranduil, fiddling with the cuffs of the jacket. "And the fabric is scratchy. I would I could call our Mirkwood tailors to this court."

"Perhaps elven fashion has moved on," I suggested.

"Change is not always for the better," he said, posing at his reflection without satisfaction. "How do I look?"

"Fabulous, darling," I said. He did. How did his hair just dry like that, as if a thousand invisible straighteners had been at work on it? It wasn't fair.

"Are you mocking me? This is not a trivial matter. I need to look no less kingly than Vinwil. I will not be upstaged by that backwoods timber merchant."

"Miaow!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sorry...just...no, honestly, you look amazing. You'll knock everyone dead."

He tossed his head, smirking at us in the water.

"And that colour suits you," he said. "It matches your eyes."

"Well, thank you," I said, noting my first actual compliment from him. "Shall we make our grand entrance, then?"

He caught at my wrist, preventing me from turning towards the arched doorway at the far end of the Falls.

"Catiel," he said, with low urgency, holding me by elbows. "Above all, you are an elven-queen. My elven-queen. Will you keep this in mind?"

He seemed almost fearful of what I might say, for some reason.

"We are bound," I said to him. "We are together, as one. Isn't that what you have told me?"

"Yes," he said, breathing a little easier. "We are. Together as one."

I smiled uncertainly. 

"And I have to watch you, and learn from you. Is that right?"

"That's right. Say nothing, do nothing, that might give away your true heritage. Will you promise me this?"

"I promise."

We kissed once more before leaving the golden waters behind us and proceeding to the feast.

I had been afraid we might be late, but if we were, nobody mentioned it. We were led down into the depths of the underground world, level after level, every level full to bursting with revelry and feasting. From the poorest elves, tucking into cabbage leaves and crab apples and singing boisterous drinking songs, down through the more middle-class environs of lambs lettuce and circle dancing, finally we emerged into a glittering ballroom ringing with beautiful music and full of the best-dressed and most lustrous-skinned elves of the realm.

They were standing in brilliant knots, sipping at elven champagne, when we entered, but as soon as we were announced, a hush fell on the room and everybody bent into a low and graceful bow, which they maintained until Thranduil spoke.

"My queen and I thank you for your welcome," he said.

They straightened up again, still watching us with fascination until Vinwil came forward and bowed himself.

"My honoured guests," he said, "will you join us at table?"

"With pleasure," said Thranduil, leading me to our places.

I wanted to be seated beside Eludin, but I found myself instead between Thranduil and a male elf in dark robes that reminded me of legal garb. He introduced himself as Ruadan, the king's chief advisor.

"We are all so very honoured to meet you," he said, and there was something a little creepy and insidious in his manner that put me straight on my guard. "Thranduil's queen! A figure of legend, or at least, your husband is. Tell me, how old is he exactly now?"

"Oh...we don't keep count any more," I said vaguely, irritated by his obsequious laugh.

"Many ages," he said. "More ages than elf has ever lived. But he is not still in Mirkwood, I believe? For Gethmen reigns there now."

"No, he, uh, decided to retire. And travel. Yes. He has travelled a lot."

"Interesting. And he met you on his travels?"

"That's right. Oh, look, lentil soup. Lovely. Would you pass the...?"

I was able to ignore much more interrogation from Ruadan by the simple expedient of hanging on to Thranduil's every word in the conversations he had with Vinwil and Eludin. He was able to make reminiscences of the Second Age and the migration of the elves last five courses, with everyone agog and rapt around him. Nobody was interested enough in me to change the subject, thank goodness.

"A true legend walks among us," said Vinwil reverently, raising a final glass. "We shall never forget this visit. But, how long do you intend to stay with us?"

Ah. There was a question.

Thranduil raised his own glass and clinked it against Vinwil's. 

"Are you so tired of our company already, my lord?"

Aha, deftly played, Thranduil. Vinwil was unable to pursue the question now without seeming rude.

"Indeed, I am not. But now we must end the feast, for our lights flicker and soon we will not have power enough to guide us to our beds."

He stood and announced the breaking up of the party, waiting until the brightly dressed crowds were on their way before giving his arm to Eludin and bidding us good night.

"I thought that went well. Did that go well?" I asked, as we followed our guiding servants to our chamber.

"That politician Ruadan had doubts of you," said Thranduil. "And I believe Vinwil does also. We must be careful."

We were shown into our chamber and I collapsed on the bed, my eyes starry with all that I had seen and tasted and heard that night. The most celestial music, the most delicate flavours, the most ravishing elves moving like ballerinas across the floor.

In fact, in my absorption, I had almost forgotten Eludin's promise, until a low knock at the door interrupted Thranduil in the hanging up of his cloak.

"Oh," I said, sitting up. "It must be..."

"Do not answer it," said Thranduil.

"What?" I sat up, staring at him in dismay. "But it's..."

"Do not," he said more firmly. "Leave it be."

I rose to my feet, determined to go to the door and admit my visitor, but Thranduil took my shoulder and returned me to the bed, holding me down while he loomed above me.

"I am serious, Catiel," he said. "You will do as you are told. I will send them away."

I inhaled, preparing to call out to the visitor, but Thranduil put his fingers to my lips and suddenly I had no voice. 

I had to lie there, speechless and helpless, while he opened the door a crack and told whoever was out there to leave us alone.

I strained my ears to hear the response, but it was spoken very quietly and I couldn't catch it. 

"No," said Thranduil. "She is asleep now." 

I heard footsteps receding down the corridor, then the door was shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think some Tragic Back Story is lurking...might have to let it out soon. Eek.


	15. Bad For Your Elf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 'the most depressing day of the year' according to some marketing knobs, so I thought I'd cheer it with a little update. I am LOVING all the speculation in the comments - some of you must have been inside my brain to look at my head canon, I think. But I won't say which bits of it, just yet...;).

"Why did you do that?" I blurted in one quick breath once he had lifted the silencing spell.

"I have already explained this," he said, looking down at me with folded arms. "Must I repeat myself?"

"You think it's a trap. But then, how am I ever going to find out about my mother? What's the point of being here at all, if I can't do that?"

"If our visitor is genuine, then he will find you again, without the connivance of Queen Eludin. If, on the other hand, he is not, then you are safe now and perhaps they will leave you alone."

I pondered this. Galling as it was to admit it, he was right. While we had nowhere else to go, the sensible course was to play it safe. That was what thousands of years of life experience did for you, I guess. 

I lay down flat on the bed, staring at the carvings on the ceiling, wondering if I was in for a lifetime of humble-pie-eating. It seemed horribly likely.

He sat beside me, gazing down at me.

"Your mother will be found," he said gently, then he took my hand and put it on his chest, next to his heart. "Will you swear to me that you will not act against my counsel?"

"Swear to you?"

"Yes. Make an oath that cannot be broken, on your life and mine."

"Hang on. Tell me more about these oaths. Do you literally die if they get broken?"

"No," he said. "We cannot die, except that we are slain, or we lose the will. You must know this?"

"Well, yes, immortality and all that. But do you think my human blood might get in the way of that, for me?"

"I know of elves who have chosen a human life and thus lost their immortality, but you did not make that choice. So I hope you will live as long as I do." He looked away for a moment, his brow furrowed.

"How will I know?"

"You cannot be the only half-elf. Vinwil hints that there must be more than a few, here in your modern world, though back in Middle Earth it was rare indeed and certainly there were none in my realm. Perhaps, when your mother is found, she will know of others."

"If we ever find her," I said glumly.

"Yes, and speaking of such, you were to make me a promise, of the most solemn and binding nature."

"But it won't kill me if I break it?"

"You seem very anxious to establish this, Catiel. It makes me wonder if you have any intention at all of being bound by your oath. But, since you are curious, I will tell you that, if you make this oath to me and then break it, I will know that you have done so at the moment it occurs."

"Oh. Really?"

"The bond between us will ensure it. So do not think of breaking it."

"I'm not sure I want to make it," I objected. "You're asking me to promise not to do anything you don't want me to."

"I am asking you to trust that I know what is best here," he said. "Because I do, and because it is my sacred duty to protect you from harm."

"Your sacred duty," I repeated. "Wow."

"I will not fail in it a second time," he said quietly, and with such a burden of sadness in his voice that I tightened my fingers around his, feeling the quickening beat of his heart.

"All right," I said. "I'll take it. What do I have to say?"

His heartbeat slowed again.

"Good," he said. "Repeat the words after me."

So I did, pledging myself to do nothing without his approval for the duration of our stay in Vinwil's kingdom. I had to assume that trivial stuff like going to the loo or helping myself to food at the table wasn't included, otherwise my life was going to get very tedious very quickly.

The oath taken, I was ready for some explanations, specifically regarding why he was being so intense about all this. Clearly there was something in his past informing his behaviour and, as his wife, I thought I had a right to know what it was.

"What did you think was going to happen, if I hadn't taken the oath?" I said.

He lay down on the bed, his hands clasped behind his head, looking into the distance.

"I have seen enough of you to know that you are impulsive," he said. "And ignorant of the ways of elves. Until you learn more, I must be watchful of you. But you need not worry now. All will be well."

"Will it?"

He released one hand to make a beckoning gesture, and I lay down beside him, drinking in his noble profile. I wanted to run my finger along the line of it, sketching it out. 

"I think so," he said. "Now I am reassured."

"You seemed to really need that reassurance," I remarked, trying to work myself up to the big question that was on my mind. If only I could get him to unburden without having to ask it.

"You have heard what I said. I have a sacred duty to you. I cannot fail in it."

I left a beat of silence, my throat suddenly dry.

"Again?" I suggested, in a whisper.

I saw his adam's apple bob, in time with the stiffening of his expression.

"I mean..." I said.

"Enough," he said. "You need to rest."

I sat up, frustrated beyond belief. "Thranduil," I protested. "You can't make me do all this oath-swearing and stuff and then refuse to discuss it. I'm your queen, and I love you, and I want to understand you. How can I, if you keep everything from me?"

"If you love me," he said, his voice slightly cracked, "you will wish to spare me pain."

"Of course I do," I said. "But whatever has caused it is in the past now. You have lived a long time alone, but that time is over. Everything is new. Everything has changed. You can be happy – I'll do everything I can to make you happy, but I need to know you first."

He lay still as a statue, still gazing up at the ceiling, high above us.

"You need to know me," he said in a sepulchral tone. "But you do know me, Catiel. You know me as I am. You do not need to know me as I was."

"Why not? Were you so very different?"

"I was young," he said, into the silence that followed this question.

"Please tell me about your first wife," I said. "What was her name?"

He sat up so suddenly that I yelped and shifted back in alarm. He turned to me and seized my hands in an iron grip.

"Catiel," he said, back to full throttle in the voice department. "I deeply appreciate your love and your concern for me. Do not doubt it. But if you persist in questioning me on this matter tonight, I will repeat the silencing spell I performed earlier."

Oh, God help me, I married a control freak.

"If not tonight, then when?"

"Rest. Now," he said, through gritted teeth, getting up and pacing around the room with his fingers pressed to his temples.

The idea of trying to rest when we were both so het up seemed ridiculous.

"How can I rest when―"

"Like this," he hissed, and he made some kind of flourish in my direction and...

Darkness.

*

When I emerged from my sightless, soundless cocoon he was sitting beside me on the bed, looking down at me. 

I couldn't have said how many hours had passed, but I don't think he had rested, because the perfect skin was less glowy and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

"What did you do to me?"

"I am sorry," he said, and his contrition seemed real. "I lost my good spirit. It is rare that my impulses overwhelm me, but on this occasion... I hope you can forgive me."

I struggled up to prop myself on my elbows, still blinking at the low light in the chamber. The lack of windows made it impossible to guess at the time of day or night.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"It is near morning."

"And you have been up all this time?"

"I could not rest. Catiel, I must know if you will forgive me."

He wrenched at my heartstrings, but I had every right to be furious with him, and I thought I ought to make him sweat for a bit first.

"I don't know," I said. "How could you do that to me? Are you going to do that every time we argue? Just shut me down with a spell? Because I don't think I can live like that."

"No. It will never happen again."

"Will you swear me an oath?"

"If you wish it."

I sighed. "No, it's OK. I believe you. I'm not sure why, but I do."

I couldn't bring myself to stay angry at him. He was so obviously weighed down with a world of sorrow and guilt.

"I have had many hours to myself in which to think," he said. "And those hours have been of great value. Since we met, there has not been time to reflect. I see now that I am in danger of repeating the mistakes of the past with you. I have no wish to do so."

"Oh," I said, holding my breath. It sounded like the prelude to an opening up.

"Your case is a little different," he said. "You have come to live in a society you know nothing of, and there are dangers inherent in that. My first wife knew what she was doing...all the same..."

He tailed off, looking down at his fingers, the rings flashing gently in the low light.

He turned to me.

"Will you forgive me?"

"If...if you will tell me..."

"Very well. When you said you had a right to know, you spoke truth. But I have never spoken of it, in all these years. Even to my son, who has even more right than you to ask me."

I waited. I wanted to touch him but he seemed to exude a brittle, defensive aura that held me back.

"Her name was Minoreth." He whispered it, and then paused for a long time.

"Minoreth," I said, breaking the silence to try and move things along. "Nice name. How did you meet?"

He shook his head, raising a hand as if to say that he wouldn't answer questions.

"When I say I was young at that time, I do not mean it literally. I mean in spirit, not in years. In fact, I waited some centuries after inheriting my throne before I took a queen. The battle in which my father was killed had been devastating, and my people were sadly depleted. I devoted the opening years of my reign to rebuilding my army and pursuing treaties with other elven realms. I even formed an alliance with the men of Dale, such that we promised to come to one another's aid in the event of a common foe. I possessed much in the way of spirit and vigour at that time, and great work was done in restoring the Greenwood to its old glories. Ah, you should have seen it, Catiel. It could rival Lothlorien, even Rivendell, at the height of their splendour."

"I wish I could too," I said. 

He smiled at me, as if only just noticing I was there, and took one of my hands in his, running a fingertip idly along the lines of my palm. Progress.

"My mother had never recovered from my father's death," he continued, sobering again, his finger tracing the lines a little more compulsively. "For those first years, we feared she would pine her life away, but she rallied a little when she saw the work I was doing and recovered enough to offer me counsel and encouragement. It seemed that, for my sake, she was able to put aside her grief. But when she saw that the kingdom was restored and I had honoured my father's memory to her satisfaction, then she shut herself away and never came out of her chamber again."

"Oh no," I said. "How awful. She died of grief?"

"She did. And on her deathbed, she gave me her last wish. It was that I should take a wife, and make sure our beloved Greenwood had an heir, or all our good work would have been for naught."

"What a pity that she didn't live to see her grandson."

"Yes, it is." His fingernail dug into my palm and I winced. "I'm sorry." He wrapped his fingers around mine instead, to prevent further accidents. "I spent the years after her death visiting every elven realm, in search of an elleth to call my queen. But it was not as easy as I had thought it might be."

"Really? Surely they'd have been falling over themselves?"

"You flatter me," he said.

"Not really. A, you're a king. B, you're, well, you're hot."

"Hot?" He side-eyed me and put a hand to his forehead, as if to check his temperature.

"No, it's a figure of speech. It means you're, er, attractive."

"The problem was not a lack of eligible females," he said. "It was the sheer number of them. Every elven lord, apart from some of the Noldor who thought me beneath them, brought out their daughters to feast with me at so many banquets, so many balls. I was unable to make a choice. They were all beautiful, all accomplished, all of high blood. No sooner had I decided upon one, than another came to cast doubt on my decision. I retired to the Greenwood to see if distance would alter my perspective. I asked the stars for their help, but no one elleth came to mind more than any other. It seemed that I would have to inscribe all their names on a parchment and stick a pin in the list."

"And did you?" I asked, rather appalled at the idea.

"No. Before I could do so, I was invited to visit a small elven outpost on the far shore of the River Running, in order to make a trade agreement. These were elves who had not come with my father into the Greenwood, but had remained on the banks of the river in order to trade in timber and trinkets. They were masters of woodcraft and I would sometimes buy from them. They numbered not more than one hundred, and were peace-loving folk. Nonetheless, they were struggling to earn enough from their carving, and they offered to lend me aid in any military campaign in return for a promise to pay them an annual sum for the exclusive use of their craftsmanship."

"Did you agree?"

"I did agree, yes," he said, and his eyes had gone far away, dreaming. "At that meeting, there was a young elleth, and she it was who drove the hardest bargain. She would not have her fellows agree to the price I offered until I had raised it seven times. But if she had asked me to raise it twenty times, perhaps I would have done, for my sense had flown from my head on first sight of her."

"Minoreth?" I whispered, suddenly pearced with stupid jealousy. Why be jealous of a poor dead woman?

"Minoreth," he confirmed.


	16. Heartbreak Hotelf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might notice from the chapter title, I'm starting to run low on elf puns...although this one did make me laugh out loud. Any suggestions are most welcome! Thanks for all comments and suggestions, especially the ones that give me ideas (looking at Lossie). And now - into the angst. Oh dear.

I had to fight to stay completely expressionless. I didn't want Thranduil to see that his words had hurt me as much as they had. And I certainly didn't want chapter and verse on whatever wondrous romantic courtship he had paid Minoreth. Not when my own consisted of downing a couple of mulled wines. If only I hadn't been such a cheap date.

Or rather, if only I'd _known_ what I was _doing_ with that stupid wine.

But it was too late for that now.

"Right," I said tonelessly. "So you met, fell in love, got married, had a kid, blah blah blah. So what's the story with you failing in your duty?"

"No, it did not happen as you say," he said. "Though I wish it had. I wish it had happened as it did for us – with the frankness of desire leading to an honest bond."

Oh! Now _that_ didn't sound so bad.

"So...how did it happen, then?"

His grip on my fingers tightened.

"I was so enchanted by her that, on my final night in their outpost, I proposed marriage. She refused me."

"She _refused_ you?"

"Yes," he said, a mite testily. "She said she could never leave her people, and that she was not worthy to be a queen. I was angry and disappointed, and I would not accept her refusal. I went to her father and told him what had happened. The next morning..." He swallowed, seeming to find it harder to talk. "The next morning she came to me as I was preparing to leave. She said that, after all, she would accept me."

"Oh my God. But...I mean..." I didn't know how to phrase this. He must have known that Minoreth was only probably following her father's orders. Didn't that bother him at all?

"Believe me, Catiel, I know now that I should have bade her return to her family. If only Saruman had sent me back in time, rather than forward, I would never have had that conversation with her father. I would have returned to Greenwood, indulged my foolish heartbreak until it healed, and chosen a willing elleth from the many I had at my disposal. And this is one of the reasons I have been so reluctant to tell you of this. It scarcely reflects well on the ellon I was."

"Well, no." I made an apologetic grimace. I didn't want to twist the knife, but there it was. "Perhaps your brain was addled with mad love and all that."

"I was infatuated, and I was only too ready to believe the stories she spun me. She told me she had been so taken by surprise that she had hardly known how to respond. She had needed only time to understand that my proposal was real, and her future really did lie with me, as my queen. Catiel, if you had heard her, you would have thought her in earnest."

There was a haunted look in his eyes now that spoke of a sadness experienced through centuries.

He turned to me, willing me to understand. "And we were happy, for a while. I thought we were. Before our wedding, we spent such time together as I will never forget. If she did not love me, she concealed it well. But on our wedding day, I saw the first signs that all was not as I thought. Of course, I chose to ignore them."

"What signs?"

"Every member of her little clan was at the feast. We were intoxicated with love and happiness and possibly Dorwinion wine. I gave to her a necklace of the purest, whitest gems ever hewn from rock as a wedding gift, and she shone like the stars. But as the dancing whirled around me, I realised that I could not see her, so I went to seek her. She was on a balcony, with another elleth of the village, and they were exchanging such high words that my Minoreth was weeping. When she saw me, the village elleth stormed off. Minoreth would not tell me why they had quarrelled, only that she wanted to leave the feast now and...and..."

"And what?"

"She asked me to take her to bed."

"Well, it was your wedding night."

"Yes, but the way she said it will never leave me. She said, 'Take me to your bed. I have accepted my destiny, and I will embrace it now with all my heart.' She sounded... Anyway. Without wishing to go into indelicate detail, I should tell you that that first wedding night was nothing at all like my second."

He heaved a sigh.

I felt it would be a bit crass of me to ask "in what way?", but I really wanted to. Mainly because I wanted to hear him to say that it was nowhere near as good.

I think he sensed this because he kissed my hand and said, "She was an affectionate wife, and she did her best to please me, as I did her. But our bonding was a much more sedate affair than yours and mine."

It would have been extremely inappropriate to smile at that juncture, so I didn't. Then I uttered a silent prayer of apology to Eru, and asked him to look after poor old Minoreth, wherever she was.

"Soon after the bonding, we feasted again, to celebrate the news of my son's conception. The people of the village were again invited, but the elleth with whom she had quarrelled did not come.

Minoreth grew pale and withdrawn. I did all I could to cheer her, but she seemed to want to do no more than wander the forest with her pipes. I became eventually impatient with her and I fear I spoke harshly to her on more than one occasion."

"After what you'd seen with your mother..." I suggested.

"Yes, precisely that. My deepest fear was that she would succumb to the same wasting melancholy. I had her seen by every healer in my realm, but in the end only one remedy worked for her."

"What was that?"

"The birth of Legolas. She was transformed by it. Her love for him brought her back to me. Our happiness could not have been measured. I believe she truly loved me then - for giving him to her - in a way she had not done before."

I smiled sympathetically, wishing in a strangely detached way that I could have seen Thranduil with baby Legolas. It would have been the cutest thing ever. And, despite his protestations of their happiness, I wasn't feeling jealous any more. I had a feeling the domestic idyll wasn't going to last.

"We had a year together of happiness, the three of us," he said. "And then word came from her father. The village had been subject to an attack by Easterlings."

"Oh, Easterlings," I said. "Nasty."

"This news split our contented little family asunder. She insisted that she should go to them. I said no, but that I invited all who wished it to come and live with us in the Greenwood. She said she had to fetch them herself, she had to see the damage that was done and know which villagers had been slain. She was as one possessed that night."

"And did she go?"

"I did not think she would defy me. I offered many things – I offered a guard from my personal army to be posted to the village. I offered my builders to make fortifications. Nothing would satisfy her but permission to go there herself, which I would never have granted. I reminded her that Legolas needed his mother, and that it was far too dangerous to set foot beyond the river with Easterlings abroad, and eventually, when she would not hear reason, I simply forbade it in no uncertain terms. I thought this would be enough. But I should have made her swear an oath. I should have understood...but how could I have understood? I thought she was simply shocked and worried for her people."

"Er, surely that's exactly what she was?"

Thranduil looked at me and shook his head slowly, before returning to his story.

"If I had made her swear an oath, I could have stopped her before it was too late..."

"Oh no," I said, dreading what was to come.

"She stole out while I rested. By the time I came to consciousness, she must have been there, in the village. Of course, I gave immediate chase. But when I arrived, she was not there."

"Oh. Where was she, then?"

"She had been seen there, and had left once more, along the river. I followed its path until I found...the wreckage...of a boat. And on the shore, an elleth, half-dead, her lungs rank with river weed. Not my Minoreth. But her...her...beloved."

"Oh God, _what_? Oh, Thranduil."

"When she came round...I still cannot say her name. I will force myself. Liffra. There. When Liffra came round, she told me what had happened. That she and Minoreth had had a bond, just as strong as any wedding bond, of love and devotion since they were elflings. They neither of them had any desire more than to stay close to one another and live in spinsterhood in their village, seeing one another every day."

"So that's why she turned you down!"

"Indeed. And Liffra had wept every day when Minoreth had left the village, on pain of being cast out by her father if she did not take this golden opportunity to secure a brilliant future for all her family."

"Poor girl," I whispered. "Both of them."

"They quarrelled at the wedding feast because Liffra saw how Minoreth felt a bond of love with me also. Racked with jealousy, she went back to the village to pine. But that night, after the raid, Minoreth came to her and wept for joy to find her alive."

"So...what happened after that?"

"They vowed that they should spend not another day apart, ever again. They conceived a scheme to take the river south and then make for Lothlorien, where they would seek refuge in the realm of King Amroth. Minoreth had the necklace I gave her as a wedding gift. She planned to sell it, in order to fund their journey."

"But didn't she care about abandoning Legolas?"

"Oh, yes, indeed," he said with a hollow sound that was halfway between a groan and a laugh. "She meant to come back for Legolas, once they were established in Lothlorien. She knew I would never give him up, but they thought they could devise a plot between them, given the time and the wit."

"God, poor Legolas. This is horrible."

"And so they took a boat and fled along the river. But before they were many leagues down, they encountered Easterlings, who robbed them of the necklace and, when Minoreth fought them, threw her overboard, where she drowned."

"Oh God."

We sat in profound silence for many minutes. Thranduil was still as a waxwork, his eyes glassy, staring down at our conjoined hands. My skin began to prickle and my fingers twitched in his. I had absolutely no idea what to say.

"I'm so sorry," I said at last, when it really seemed as if he had gone into a trance.

"So am I," he said in a whisper.

"What an awful mess. If only everyone had been up front with each other from the start..."

"She is not to be blamed," he said. "She could not have been honest. Her father would have disowned her."

"No, I understand that. And everybody suffered, for the sake of some ancient prejudice against a love that wasn't permitted." I sighed. "Actually, I say 'ancient' but some people are still funny about it even now."

He gave me a sharp look.

"Do you mean to say that such love is allowed in your time?"

"Yes. Well, not in every country in the world, but certainly here."

"Then I wish for Minoreth's sake she could have been born into a kinder time. And I hope she is in a kinder place."

"So do I."

"So you see, we both had our faults, and we both bore some blame, but the only innocent one in all this was the one who lost most."

"Legolas?"

"Yes. He has no memory of her, and he grew up without a mother, which is rare indeed in our elven world. Minoreth and I both knew a mother's love; he never will."

He bent his spine suddenly and buried his head in his knees. I think he was too proud still to want me to see his reawakened grief, but I put my hand on his back and rubbed it.

"It is all past and gone," I said. "I know you think you should have done more, I know you think you should have acted differently, but you cannot change what happened then. You can only change your future."

There was a convulsion beneath my hand, a silent sob. Several more juddered through him, then he took a deep breath, straightened his spine again and looked me straight in the eye.

"It was whispered abroad then that I could not protect my queen. It will not be said of me again," he said, and there was a note of obdurate challenge in it.

"Yes," I said. "I see. It didn't make it into the books, if that's any consolation."

"It would not," he said. "For not a soul knows the truth of it, save me and the elleth Liffra. What the world knows – what Legolas knows – is that I rode with his mother to relieve his grandparents from the village, and on the way we were both attacked by Easterlings."

"And since then you have never said a word to anybody?"

"Never. I would not have her name mentioned to me at court. When my son asked about her, I referred him to his grandparents."

"That's quite a burden to carry alone for such a long time."

"It is no more than I deserve," he said bitterly. "I have tried my best to honour her memory. I sent soldiers out after those Easterlings – if I could not bring Minoreth back, I could slay her killers and retrieve her jewels. But they had been killed already, in a skirmish with the dwarves of Erebor, who had taken the necklace and given it to their king, Thror. Let us just say that my petition to have them returned was met with...insolence."

"Ah, yes," I said. "That rings a bell, now you mention it."

He pushed his fingertips up into his eyebrows, a gesture of infinite weariness and resignation.

"So now you have the knowledge you craved," he said. "Was it worth the hearing?"

"I'm glad you told me," I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "But of course, I'm sorry for everything that happened."

I was quiet for a moment, looking at him and thinking I'd never seen someone more in need of a hug. Yet he radiated such completely unapproachable body language that I couldn't make the move.

"Thank you for your forbearance," he said. "And now I really think I must rest."

No, he couldn't just turn away and switch off now. My dismay drove me on.

"Thranduil," I said, a little desperately.

He looked at me, eyebrows hitched.

"You know it won't be like that for us, don't you? I mean, I can understand why you might have trust issues...but you can trust me. I don't love anybody else. Only you."

A flicker of warmth arose in his red-rimmed eyes.

"Yes, I know," he said, reaching for my hands and letting me steal that much-needed embrace. We held each other, tight and quiet, until I had to let out a noisy and undignified breath that turned into a bit of a sob. "I know it. I have treated you badly and I can only blame myself for it."

He loosened his hold on me before he completely crushed my ribcage to powder, enabling me to speak again.

"If you live your life expecting the mistakes of the past to be repeated, we will never be happy," I said. "I do need your help working out how to live this elven life, and if you will give it with love, I will always accept it. But there are ways I can help you too, if you will let me."

"You help me by being here, now," he said. "You have made me see what a bond can be. If I had only known..."

"You know now," I whispered.

Our lips met and the kiss was more than a kiss. It felt like a new contract and a communion of hearts.

"Catiel," he said, holding my face and looking into it. "I am ill-versed indeed in the ways of human love, but I know it is usually kindled with somewhat less speed than our union. I wish I could have given you more in the manner of...courtship. You must feel cheated."

"Yes, well, a declaration of undying love would have been nice," I admitted. "This has all happened in such a head over heels way. But I wouldn't swap you, and I wouldn't change it now for anything. You're stuck with this awkward half-human who's way shorter than you're probably used to. And I'm stuck with you."

"I do love you," he said. "Although, as you say, you are somewhat short."

"Or perhaps it's you that's ridiculously tall," I retorted.

"Perhaps it is. And you will stay with me, and be faithful to me?"

"Yes, I will." I smiled at him through a rush of sudden tears. "But if you pull that stunt with the knockout spell again I'll kick your gorgeous arse all the way back to Mirkwood."

He shut his eyes and pulled me close again.

"Those are reasonable terms," he said, his lips at my ear. "I will accept them."


	17. Elf  Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, another chapter already. And now that the business of Thranduil's rubbish love life is out of the way, we can get to the bottom of what's going on with the British elves. Happy Burns Night - I'll raise a wee dram to all commenters and kudos givers.

I let him rest then, because I had a feeling that he was about to collapse anyway. I sat on the bed and watched him, thinking about everything that had been said.

I tried to put myself in his place, and imagine how it would feel to know that the person you loved had never loved you. But it was more complicated than that – in her own way, Minoreth _had_ loved Thranduil. Given what he had told me about elven sex being impossible with an unwilling partner, she must have at least found him attractive. But life and love could be so much more complicated than that. What she really wanted was something she couldn't have, in the elven society of the times, and so she had decided to take the next best thing. Could you fall in love with someone because you knew it made sense? Elves, I suddenly thought with a bit of a shudder, were such coldly pragmatic beings. I wondered if that side of me would come out at some point.

I thought about Thranduil, zeroing in on me because he thought it would be handy to have another kid. I had no idea what it was like to think in such a way. At some level, he still seemed so alien to me. And yet he was a part of me now, and I of him, and we shared an ancestry that could be traced back to the Awakening. 

My mind turned again to my unknown mother – or perhaps it was my father? How could I know which half of me was the elf? I yearned to leave the room and try to find the mysterious visitor, but I would be breaking the oath and I knew now why it was so very important to Thranduil that I didn't.

His face in repose was peaceful and youthful. He had said he loved me, but what did that mean to him? Was it a formal thing, like a contract, or did I make his heart beat faster and his blood heat up? I wanted to read his mind, to truly know what he thought of me.

And there were other questions to be answered, so many of them, all wheeling around a central question fulcrum: What will my life be now?

Thranduil had made it clear, without once stating it explicitly, that he expected me to go wherever he went and live wherever he lived. There had been no discussion of this and I suspected it had not even crossed his mind that I might not be 100% on board with this version of my future. In elven society, husbands and wives had their bond, and that was that. They didn't split up, or even live apart, except when circumstances absolutely demanded it. Separate lives just wasn't a thing, for elves. And, as he was king of Mirkwood, that was where we had to be – once Saruman got over his huff and let Thranduil back.

But Thranduil had also said that Saruman had sent him with a mission of sorts, and part of that mission seemed to be to find a new wife. Had I been set up, centuries before I was even born, by a dodgy wizard? Did Saruman know something about what was to come? Was my half-humanity relevant? God, if only somebody would come and fill in the missing pieces of my mental jigsaw. I was getting tired of staring at all the spaces, trying to see the incomplete picture as it should be.

One thing was abundantly and rather frighteningly clear, though. I was definitely, beyond help, copper-bottomed, madly in love with Thranduil. The idea of going off to live somewhere without him just didn't compute any more.

I uttered silent apologies to mum and dad as I gazed down at the old ball and chain. I would do what I could to get news to them, to see them as often as I could, if it was possible. But there was no going back from this any more. It was T4K 2gether4ever.

A knock on the door made me jump half off the bed.

What to do? Should I answer it? What would Thranduil reckon? I didn't want to disturb him to ask his opinion, but if I answered the door would this trigger his oath-alarm and wake him up anyway?

I took a half-measure.

"Who's there?" I called.

"Breakfast is served."

Ah, OK, it was a servant. Nothing for Thranduil to worry about.

"I'm really sorry," I said, "but we're not quite ready for breakfast. Would it be all right to come down later? Or we could leave it till lunch time. Whatever, y'know, works best for you."

There was a silence, then I was surprised out of my skin to hear Thranduil's voice from behind me.

"Bring it to us," he said.

"Yes, my lord," said the servant and scuttled away.

"You're awake," I said, twisting my neck around to find him right behind me.

He put his hands on my shoulders and bent down until his chin hovered over them.

"You have no idea how to behave, do you?" he said. 

I bristled slightly until I realised that he wasn't scolding me – it was a simple and rather long-suffering statement of fact.

"Well...no," I said. "I probably don't."

"You do _not_ apologise to serving staff, nor leave decisions to them. You tell them what you want."

"I'd feel rude, though," I objected. "We're all done with all that feudal stuff in our age."

"You humans might be. Elves, from what I have observed here, are not. Of course you may be polite, but do not show weakness or indecision. Nobody expects that of a queen."

"I see. So what _do_ they expect? Because I'm only―"

Damn, I'd almost done the 'only human' thing again.

"...new to all this," I finished lamely.

"I know," he said, settling his chin on my shoulder and nuzzling into my neck. "So I will help you. I have decided to give you lessons on the manner and conduct becoming an elven-queen."

"Have you?" I said, unsure whether to be pleased or worried.

"I had no idea you would be so unversed," he said. "You have already aroused suspicion among the elven nobles here. We cannot afford for that state of affairs to worsen. If I teach you well and with all speed, we can pass your earlier gaucherie off as bonding exhaustion."

"Bonding exhaustion? Well, I think I might have that too," I said, but even as I said it a little buzz of erotic interest zapped into being from the region of my lower stomach. After all, it must have been at least twelve hours...

"You will have it worse before the day is out," he promised, or possibly threatened.

The buzz spread and I felt a little bit faint.

"But not yet," he said, stepping back from me and clapping his hands. "Turn to face me."

His command was so brisk and military in tone that I jumped right to it.

"First of all, I think, we must work on your posture and demeanour. As it is, it is entirely unqueenly. I know you are not tall, but you must imagine that you carry a foot more than you do. Raise your chin, keep your eyes lifted and for the love of Eru, put your shoulders back. You hunch them like an elderly hobbit."

Harsh words, but they had their effect. I craned my neck until the tendons nearly seized up, and thrust back everything that could be thrust. I must look like a ship's prow, I thought, with an internal giggle.

"Hmm," he said. "Not quite so bad, but..."

He came closer and began posing me, tapping me under the chin if I began to sag forwards. He pressed his knuckles into my spine and shoulders, making me yelp and assume the required position in short order.

At last, after much wrangling of my limbs, he stood back and appraised me, his head on one side.

"Much better," he said.

"It feels unnatural," I complained.

"It does now," he replied. "But in time you will become accustomed to it."

"It reminds me of old films where young ladies had to carry books on their heads."

"Books? That is not a bad idea." There were no books in the room, but Thranduil soon found a flat, square wooden board on which the bedside candles were placed. He put it on my head and made me walk slowly up and down the room, balancing it.

It fell off numerous times, and each time he added another traverse of the room to my total until at last I seemed to be able to keep it on without wobbling or having it slide to the floor.

"Not yet perfect," he noted, taking the board from my head, "but you shall practise each night until it is."

Hardly the most fascinating prospect, but I managed to keep my face blank of grimaces. I had the feeling that Thranduil was the kind of teacher who would work out what you hated doing most and then make you do it all the time. Like my year nine maths teacher. Geometry, geometry and more geometry. Ugh.

"Now, your movement requires urgent attention," he said. "Our elven step is light, swift and sure. Yours is...well, you seem to have no awareness of where your body is centred and how to control its movements from that centre."

I felt quite hopeless. Of all the things that fascinated me about Thranduil, the way he moved was one of the top contenders. It managed to combine ethereal grace and raging manliness in a way I had never seen before. Obviously, I was never going to be able to do the raging manliness bit, but 'ethereal' and 'graceful' were two adjectives nobody had ever used to describe me either.

"I don't think I can learn to move like you in one day," I said.

"No," he agreed. "But I have observed..." He broke off, smirking slightly.

"What?"

He held my eyes. "There is _one_ particular context in which your movements are _very_ elven. Surprisingly and delightfully so."

"You mean...?" I blushed furiously. I had not failed to notice how I seemed to lose my body and its awkwardness whenever we were together. A different instinct seemed to take over and guide me, one that came from very deep within me, needing Thranduil's touch to bring it forth.

"I mean...I wonder. Walk across the room to me." He stood at the far end, beckoning me on.

I did as he suggested, trying to keep all the posture ducks in a row as I went. All the same, I had a feeling my lightness of foot wasn't quite up to elven standards.

"Very human," he remarked with the ghost of a sneer. "Now cross the room again, but with me to guide you."

He put an arm around my waist and clasped my hand in his. Now, as long as I kept my mind on what I was doing, we seemed to glide along as one.

"Yes," he said with wonder. "It is so. If we are touching, then you are able to do it."

"That's so weird," I said, staring back at him. "Why does it happen?"

"I cannot be sure," he said. "An aspect of the bonding magic, I presume. But whether it will only ever work while we are physically connected, I do not know. For the moment, however, it solves a problem. Until you are able to acquire the elven graces for yourself, I must keep hold of you, and there will be less questioning of your heritage."

"Keep hold of me," I repeated, now fully in thrall to my overspilling senses, and feeling, in my haze, that this was the best news I'd had in quite some time.

"It will be no hardship," he whispered, his hand tightening at my waist.

It was happening to him too. That bonding magic would not let us be. Tomorrow was going to be interesting, with the three days at an end. Would this all stop? Would we ever feel this headlong rush towards each other again?

I let the enchantment into me, offering myself up to him. He met me halfway, our mouths connecting as if magnetised. Again, it was easy and my hands went where they were best employed without my having to think about it. He spun me on to the bed and straddled me, his chest low over mine, the kiss still in progress.

When he broke apart, ready to throw off his chemise, I stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"That spell you told me about," I said.

"What spell?"

"The one where we can feel what the other feels...you know..."

"Ah, yes, I told you of that. I remember."

"I'd like to try that. I want to know how it is for you."

His smile was a little wistful and he brushed a hand along my cheek.

"Would you, my lady? Alas, I am afraid I would need to look it up, and I do not have the book to hand. It has been a very long time..."

A sudden realisation of just what a long dry spell Thranduil had lived through dawned upon me. After all, if you couldn't shag an elleth without it turning into a legal marriage... 

"How long?" I asked.

"You know how long," he said, a mite testily.

"You mean...not since...your wife?" I couldn't say her name; somehow I felt it would ruin the mood.

"My first wife," he corrected. "And no. Of course not since then."

"I didn't realise," I said. "I thought perhaps the odd opportunity might come your way, or...I don't know. But no?"

"Is the interrogation over or can I...?" He plucked at his chemise.

"Sorry. But you really wouldn't know it," I said.

"Really wouldn't...?"

His dark brows drew together.

"I mean, you don't seem exactly...rusty."

He looked down at the unmistakably tented area beneath the fine lawn cotton of his chemise.

"I would hope not," he said, flicking a rather troubled glance back at me.

I laughed at the misunderstanding and draped my arms about his neck.

"I don't mean actually rusty," I said. "It's a figure of speech. I just meant that...you're not bad, you know?"

"Not bad? Is that as much as you can say?"

"It's a classic English understatement," I said with a giggle, as he threw off his chemise in a manner that suggested a statement of intent.

"We shall see," he said grandly, tossing his head, "if you can find a more descriptive phrase when I am done with you. Perhaps I need to improve my performance..."

"No, no," I assured him, actually rather alarmed at the prospect of Thranduil trying to up his already top-of-the-table game.

But the challenge was now made, and every last vestige of clothing was soon removed from me without ceremony.

I found myself tumbled all over the bed until I lay eventually pinned at the wrists, panting and sprawled, waiting for him to do whatever it was he most wanted.

"I hope you rested well," he teased. "There will be no rest for you now for quite some time."

He released my wrists and hoisted my legs until my heels rested on his shoulders.

"Are you ready?" he asked, testing the waters with his fingers, and answering his own question. "Oh, you are. Well, then..."

He played with me for a moment, then eased himself slowly inside...but only a short way, keeping his fingers dabbling lazily between my lower lips.

"Oh, is that frustrating?" he asked. "I suppose it's just...not bad...isn't it?"

I gasped and tried to raise my bottom, to let him sink further in, but he took hold of my hip with one hand, preventing any further such rebellion.

"Patience," he said maddeningly. "Are we in a hurry, my love? Do we have a deadline?"

God, elven self-control was a pain in the arse! I needed to develop it, quickly. But for now, I was wriggling like a fish on a hook, trying my best to get the deep-seated satisfaction I craved.

He rocked his hips very slowly back and forth, building just enough stimulation to make me feel like I was going crazy, but not enough to give me what I needed. 

"Please," I muttered, after he had almost got me close with his fingers then, at the critical moment, lightened his touch.

"Please what?" He bent his ear to my lips as if desperate to hear my plea.

"I didn't mean 'not bad'," I said. "I meant 'the absolute best'."

"Oh," he breathed. "Now I see."

He straightened his spine, put both hands firmly on my hips and sheathed himself completely. Oh, the joy of it was indescribable. Everything was as it should be again. Instead of half-human, I was no more than a quarter, because I was him and he was me, wrapped up tight like a braid.

With my ankles on his shoulders, I was raised almost off the bed, but I still aimed myself squarely at the point where he was deepest and I was fullest, careless of whatever aches and pains might be creeping into my shoulders and neck. There was nothing else to be felt but him inside me.

He drained me of one orgasm and then another, then he turned me on to my stomach and started the whole thing off again. By the time he was finished – I don't know how many orgasms later for both of us – I was certain I would never be using the phrase 'not bad' to apply to his performance again.

In fact, I was not certain I would be using any phrase at all, because my mouth was dry and my lips were wobbly, much like the rest of me.

I lay in a heap, wondering if it was the bond that made all the aches and soreness wear off after about an hour every time this happened, and if so, how convenient it all was, when there was a knock at the door again.

"Bring it in," said Thranduil, his voice wavering slightly, which was most uncharacteristic.

But it was not the servant.

"My lord, it is Queen Eludin. Might I come in?"


	18. Elf Consciousness

"My lady," said Thranduil, clearly astonished, wrapping himself in the bedsheet in case she entered suddenly and found him naked. "We are not yet quite presentable."

"No matter, I will wait," she said. "The king fretted that you might be ill. I came to see that you were not."

"We are well," said Thranduil. "If that is all your concern, you need not wait. We will join you in the state chambers when we are ready."

There was a pause.

"In truth," said Eludin, "I had hoped to speak with your queen where my husband might not overhear us."

Thranduil and I exchanged a look. This would be about my mother, and the missed appointment of the night before.

"What you say to her, you must say in my hearing," he said. "For the bond will not yet let us part."

Another pause.

"Of course," she said, but less confidently.

"Then we will endeavour not to keep you too long," said Thranduil, pulling me out of bed after him and leading me to a small chamber behind the bedroom, which proved to contain a large copper bath filled with steaming scented water. Clearly some domestic staff had organised it while we...did whatever we did.

In the bath, we were able to whisper a conversation safe in the knowledge that Eludin wouldn't catch a word of it.

"Leave all speech to me," he said. "She may try to coax information from you that you would be unwise to give."

"I still don't think we can assume she's out to get us."

"No, but neither can we assume the converse."

"No, I know."

"So will you keep silence on the subject? I wish I could say that you were unwell, but they will only plague us with healers."

"I'll try."

"Good." He rose from the waters like an ancient sea god and passed me a towel.

Once we were dried and dressed, he went to let Eludin in. She had been concealing herself in an alcove, presumably to avoid the attention of passers-by.

"At last," she said, giving Thranduil a slightly unfriendly look. "If I am seen here, I will be questioned."

"By your husband?" said Thranduil, gesturing an invitation to her to sit down.

"Yes," she said. "Catiel knows why I must keep this from him."

"Catiel may well know," said Thranduil, "but I cannot approve of secrets kept between kings and queens. I would be most displeased if I thought Catiel was keeping secrets from me."

"She has no need to, my lord. But I do, and with good reason. Catiel, have you not told him of our conversation?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but Thranduil got there first.

"You must disregard anything my wife has said to you until now. Her disposition is delicate and the bonding has thrown her into a state of confusion I did not anticipate. Really, until the three days end at midnight tonight, it is best that she rests and does not overexert her mind."

Eludin looked from Thranduil to me, her face registering clear dismay.

"But...when we spoke yesterday, you made perfect sense, Catiel. Tell him what we discussed, I beg of you. I do not think he understands..."

"I understand perfectly, my lady," he said, pre-empting me again, which was good, because I had no idea what to say. "I understand that my wife and I are guests of your husband and it behoves us therefore to respect his rule and his wishes."

Eludin was wrongfooted. She blushed deeply and stammered her reply. "I...of course you are right...but...Catiel...?"

She appealed to me so piteously that I felt a horrible guilt, not to mention frustration at not being able to take the search for my mother further.

"I'm sorry," I said, trying to convey all those feelings in the inadequate words.

"Whatever you and Catiel spoke of yesterday is best forgotten," said Thranduil, his words drawing a line underneath the whole affair. "Now, may we accompany you to your husband's chambers?"

As a last-ditch attempt to retrieve something concrete from this dead end, Eludin tried to persuade me to walk with her, but Thranduil took my arm without a word and we followed her out of the room and along the many walkways and slopes.

I concentrated on my gliding, rather enjoying the sensation despite the bad mood the exchange with Eludin had brought on.

I looked hard at every elleth we passed, wondering every time if that one could be my mother.

"You will find her," Thranduil murmured into my ear, shortly before we turned into Vinwil's throne room. "But your safety comes first."

Vinwil's throne was set upon a low dais, with his wife's place beside it. Sitting on a low wooden stool pulled up at Vinwil's side was his advisor, Ruadan.

"Ah, our honoured guests," said Vinwil expansively. "Please, be seated. Eludin, what a time you took." His eyes narrowed.

"We are to blame for that," said Thranduil, sitting with me on a luxurious banquette at the side of the room. "We are late to rise today."

"But you have breakfasted?"

"Indeed we have not," said Thranduil.

"But we're not hungry," I added quickly, remembering the acorn porridge.

"Yes we are," countered Thranduil, frowning at me.

To my extreme relief, we were offered a kind of granola thing of nuts and seeds with honey and milk, much more palatable than the porridge.

"I am afraid I may not be able to spend long in your company today," announced Vinwil. "For my advisor tells me there is a great deal to be done."

"I would be fascinated to see the workings of a modern elven realm," said Thranduil. "If I am able to offer any assistance, I would be happy to do so."

Vinwil and Ruadan exchanged a look, and Eludin gazed at her gem-studded slippers.

"With the greatest respect, my lord," said Ruadan, with an obsequious little bow, "you will find much different in these times. I wonder if it would be a better idea to educate yourself a little on modern political theory first."

The look Thranduil gave him could have curdled the milk in the jug. I trembled to think of being on the receiving end of such a glare myself. Ruadan shifted on his stool, biting the inside of his cheeks.

"What better education," said Thranduil with cutting courtesy, "than to observe your theories in practice?"

There was an embarrassed silence.

"Surely you would prefer a more pleasurable way to spend your visit?" blurted Eludin. "I could arrange carriages for a picnic in the forest..."

"You are kind," said Thranduil, "but no."

"I am afraid you will not see our kingdom to its best advantage," said Vinwil at length. "For our master crafters have taken it upon themselves to rebel and have not worked for these last three weeks. Today we must take final measures to deal with the problem."

"They're on strike?" I said, surprised.

"As the humans put it," said Vinwil with a venomous glance at me.

Oops. I pursed my lips and resolved to make no further contribution to the discussion, encouraged in this by Thranduil's warning grip on my wrist.

"In my own kingdom, our workers were content," said Thranduil. "Such a question never arose. Why has it arisen for you?"

"Because of the humans," said Vinwil with a kind of rage explosion. "They have seen how grasping and greedy humans plot to take more and more of their masters' money, and they ape them in the hope of bankrupting me."

"They have laid down their tools because they wish for better pay?" said Thranduil.

"That is so, my lord," said Ruadan. 

"If they live well and want for nothing, I do not understand why they would do this," said Thranduil.

"Living well and wanting for nothing is no longer enough," ranted Vinwil. "They see the humans with all their anti-elvish ways of living and they yearn for it. They are traitors to their kind. I will give them nothing but exile. If they want what humans have, then they can go and live among them."

"Do they truly want to live the human life?" said Thranduil, astonished. "For I have seen a little of it myself and found it most unpleasant. No elf could live happily in such noise and ugliness."

I felt somewhat aggrieved at this, and wanted to say that it hadn't done me any harm, but of course, that would be extremely unwise.

"It is greed, sheer greed, that drives them," muttered Vinwil. "But now we must go, for we are due to meet very soon. You will excuse us."

He rose, gathering his robes about him.

"I will come with you," said Thranduil, pushing aside his empty bowl and draining his cup.

"I do not advise it," said Ruadan, scurrying down the throne steps after Vinwil.

"Ah, but you are not _my_ advisor, are you?" said Thranduil, taking my arm and bringing me into the centre of the room.

"Surely you need not bring your wife?" said Vinwil with a nasty little sneer. "Eludin will be happy to entertain her, I am sure."

"On the contrary, I need very much to bring my wife, for as I have said, the third day of our bonding is not yet past."

Vinwil looked quite disgusted. 

"Would you not be better staying in your chambers?" he muttered. 

"I think we can last an hour or two," replied Thranduil with a falsely polite smile.

I hoped he was right. It would be pretty mortifying if the bonding magic did its thing right in the middle of a delicate political negotiation. What on earth would we do if it did?

"As you wish," said Vinwil, sounding maximally pissed off. "You may learn something of our age, at least, and I hope it profits you."

"I hope it profits us all," remarked Thranduil mildly as we set off in train.

Eludin lingered behind us for a while, before deciding suddenly to join us.

"Why are you coming?" demanded Vinwil, apparently less than pleased by this development.

"I had planned to entertain our guests, and now that plan has come to naught," she said. "Besides, I am anxious to know how your talks proceed."

"She means she is anxious to catch you alone," Thranduil murmured into my ear as we glided down a communal walkway into the thriving heart of the underground realm. "Be cautious."

"Yes, I think I've got that message now," I said, earning myself a very pretty pout from the royal lips.

Eludin came to my other side and walked in parallel with us as we descended further.

"I am afraid this will not be very amusing for you," she said to me. "The problem is intractable, as far as I can tell, and I have few hopes for the outcome of these talks."

"Are they really only striking because they want to copy humans?" I asked.

She sighed.

"Do not repeat what I say, but I think there is far more to it than that. Vinwil does not like to think so, for it reflects ill on him, but..." Her voice was a whisper; I guess she was hoping Thranduil would not overhear, but with ears that size, it was a forlorn hope.

"How does it reflect ill on him?" he asked, his own voice pitched low so as not to attract the attention of the other king – who was deep in conversation with his advisor in any case.

"The crafters do not live well," she whispered, flame-faced now to be including Thranduil in the conversation. "But that is only my opinion."

"Are they not well paid?" Thranduil wanted to know. Poor Eludin's regret at having mentioned it at all was etched all over her face.

"Their coin was cut some years ago, when they rallied to the support of one of their fellows, against Vinwil. It has never been restored to its former level."

Thranduil opened his mouth to question her further, but Vinwil and Ruadan had reached a kind of lift-pulley affair and they turned to face us.

"We must go lower," said Vinwil, "for our crafters work in the very roots of our kingdom."

We were taken, in some kind of basket on a system of ropes, down past the elegant upper levels with their burnished, beautiful architecture, into a mustier, darker place. Here, everything was rougher; splintery and smelling of mould. Thranduil was visibly upset by the poor condition of the place.

"This is where your crafters work?" he said, as we stepped out of the lift into a vast but low-ceilinged space, poorly lit and with muddy patches all over the floor.

"Work and live," said Eludin. We passed some doors set into the cavernous walls – the doors were beautifully decorated, but the dark spaces inside, when we could see into them, were poor and gloomy. At some of them, raggedy children played, or grown elves loitered around, watching the king as he passed and making the formal bow that was expected, but without enthusiasm.

"Be careful of your feet," warned Ruadan. 

Vinwil's expression was grim. I could see why he had not wanted to bring us down here. It was no more than a slum, and infested with bats which hung upside down from almost every beam and rafter. The floor was splattered with their droppings.

Past the poor hovels, we came to the central workshop. Nobody was at work at the many tables and the tools lay idle. A large crowd of elves sat at the far end, ranged on benches, smoking pipes and chattering.

As the king entered, their voices died away. They all rose, dutifully, like schoolchildren at assembly, and performed the required bow before sitting back heavily and staring at Vinwil.

"I greet you, my people," said Vinwil in a bored tone. "I come to make my final offer, in the hope that this deadlock can be resolved."

An elf from the crowd rose and came forward, clutching a sheaf of parchment.

"We have set forth our case here," he said. 

Ruadan took the papers and began to read through them, conferring quietly with the king as he did so.

While this went on, I took a good look around, my vision beginning to adjust to the dimness. Shelf after shelf of beautiful woodwork ranged around us, though much of it had gathered dust and cobwebs. I gasped and tightened my hold on Thranduil's arm as something caught my eye.

He bent to me. "What is it?"

I nodded towards a shelf a few yards away. A row of woodland animals, carved in exactly the style of the ones we had found in the tree trunk, stood looking back at us. They must have been made by the same hand, surely.

Thranduil held my arm fast. He had seen it too but appeared to be afraid I might do something rash in my excitement. I tried to slow my heartbeat, but it wasn't easy. I could be standing right now in the same room as my mother. My eyes darted around the assembly opposite, trying to pick out individual faces, but they were too far away and the light too poor to get any joy.

At last Vinwil and Ruadan's confab seemed to be over. Ruadan folded the parchment decisively and looked towards Vinwil, awaiting his pronouncement.

"I will not accede to demands," he said. "A king is not to be harried or forced into anything, especially by his subjects. If you wish to deal with weak leaders who will yield to you without question, then join the humans. Otherwise – get back to work."

The elves leapt to their feet, uproar breaking out.

"We ask nothing more than fair treatment," cried their leader. "Fair treatment and coin enough to feed our families."

"You are lucky I do not exile you," roared Vinwil. "I have no place in my kingdom for ingrates and upstarts."

"Then your kingdom will have no more master crafters," vowed his opponent.

"You are not the only elves with such skills," said Ruadan. "You can be replaced."

"Oh, and who will train your replacements? Do you think these are easily wielded?" He snatched up a sharp knife from one of the workbenches. 

Vinwil stepped back in alarm, while Eludin screamed. The bevy of guards who had accompanied us drew their swords.

Before we could take a breath, we were in the centre of a maelstrom. The guards rushed into the crowd, blades flashing, while the workers snatched up whatever weapons lay to hand in self-defence. The clash of metal upon metal, and the thump of wood on bone, surrounded us. Vinwil was fighting as hard as anyone, grunting and growling as he waved his sword, while Eludin wove in and out of the action, dagger drawn.

"Shouldn't we get out of here?" I said, trying to tug Thranduil back out of the melee.

"No," said Thranduil. "In fact..."

He seized at the arm of one of the workers, yanking him out of a hand-to-hand struggle with a disarmed guard, and whispered something into his ear.

The worker gawped, then took hold of Thranduil's own sword, which my husband offered to him with a significant nod of the head.

"Thranduil..." I said, wondering if he had gone completely insane.

But I had no time to ask further. I was yanked up on to one of the benches so that we stood above the fight, and the worker held Thranduil's sword to both of our throats, his grip on my arm shaky in the extreme.

"Hold!" he bellowed. "Stop this fighting!"

Slowly, Vinwil retracting his weapon first, everybody stopped scrapping and turned to us, agog with horror.

"I have King Thranduil and his Queen as hostages," said the worker. "They will not be released until we get a better answer to our complaints than what we have been given today. I warn you, my lord." He pointed at King Vinwil. "You have one day to consider this further, or the blood of one of our greatest kings will be on your hands."

"But you...cannot do this," gasped Vinwil, aghast.

"Give them what they want," I cried, extremely unnerved by the blade at my throat. "Please."

"One day," said Vinwil. "We meet here again tomorrow."

"One day," repeated the worker, leading us down from the bench and towards one of the tumbledown cottages that circled the workshop.

He ushered us in and slammed the door on us, locking it behind him.

"Thranduil," I whimpered, looking around at the mouldy, sodden surroundings. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Do not fret, my love," he said, peering through the grated door and watching Vinwil and his guards retreat from the workshop. "This will work best for us."

"Excuse me if I can't see how getting taken hostage by a bunch of desperate strikers is going to work best for us."

"You must trust me," he said, turning and bringing me into his arms. "I know what I am doing."


	19. Elf Knowledge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Saturday, so let's spend some time with Thranduil (with thanks to those readers who have said that reading this fic is like spending time with him - which is, of course, exactly why I'm writing it ;)).

I stood in his embrace for a minute or so, until a spider fell into my hair, spoiling the moment.

"So, what _are_ you doing?" I asked, not unreasonably.

"There will be no use appealing to Vinwil's reason," said Thranduil. "He is a king and will not accept opposition."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I am one," said Thranduil. "If I am set on my course, I shall not be challenged by anything other than a force stronger than my own will."

"A force stronger than your will," I said, eyeing him. "I'd like to see that sometime."

"I think you would not," said Thranduil, retrieving another spider from my cleavage and flicking it away. It was a bloody good job I wasn't arachnophobic. "Vinwil must be brought round by the application of cunning. And so..."

Any further explanations were cut short by the jangling of keys in the lock. We stood back to admit half a dozen crafters, all of them carrying hefty items of furniture.

"Mind yer back," called their leader, and we waited by the open door while they installed an oak settle, a bed, a canopy for the bed, two upholstered chairs and a table. All of it was of the finest quality; the kind of thing you'd see on _Antiques Roadshow_. It looked incongruous and museum-ish in this dank little hole.

"There," said the chief crafter, standing back to admire the scene. "Only the best for our favourite elven-king and his beautiful lady." He turned to us and made a deep bow. "Did Malvus over there speak the truth when he told me you invited him to take you hostage?"

"He did," said Thranduil.

All of the elves fell to their knees, muddying their raggedy-arsed britches in the process.

"Then we are most profoundly grateful to you," said the chief crafter. "We are on the point of abandoning all hope. It is as if a light has been shone down upon us from the stars. May Eru bless and save you, my lord and lady."

Thranduil bowed his head graciously, and I decided to copy him, though my bow of the head was more a bob. He gestured that they should rise, and led me to the upholstered chairs, where we sat.

"Please, seat yourselves," invited Thranduil, and the half dozen of them squeezed together on the massive settle.

"I wish to make it clear, if it is not already, that my sympathies are with you in this matter," said Thranduil. "But I do not wish for your king to know this. The idea that I may stand in opposition to him will only enrage him. So I ask most expressly that you do not let this knowledge become public. Keep my support of your cause a secret among the fewest possible of your number."

"Of course, my lord," said the chief. 

"I see that your living conditions are well below that which I would think suitable for my crafters," said Thranduil. "I am told by Queen Eludin that your pay was frozen some years ago. She did not fully explain to me what had led to this. I should like very much to know."

The elf who had held Thranduil's sword to our throats, Malvus, piped up from the extreme left of the row.

"Our guild is led by Winye now, but twenty years ago, it was led by one of the finest crafters we have ever had here. Her name was Remula. Remula did something to anger the king and he cast her out. We did not agree that she should be exiled and so we laid down our tools in protest. There was a riot, which the king's guards overcame. Ever since that day, we have been paid no more than two coins a week, which is barely enough to feed ourselves."

"Couldn't you leave?" I asked. "Find work elsewhere?"

They stared at me.

"Where?" said Winye. "There is no other elven realm in all of Britain now. The last of the Welsh elves went to Valinor a hundred years ago. We have nowhere to go."

"There is forest all over the place," I said. "You could make your own realm."

The elves all looked at each other, communicating with complex eye rolls that seemed to ask whether I was as clueless as I looked or what.

"With no tools and no coin? We would perish, or be found by humans and their dogs."

Humans.

"Where did Remula go?" I asked, then something struck me hard. "What did Remula _do_?"

They looked at each other with what appeared to be vestiges of panic.

"Your support for our cause may falter if you know," muttered Malvus.

Thranduil gave them the full beam of his hard blue stare.

"I do not think you can presume to know my thoughts," he said, his head tilted to express maximum disapproval. "Besides," he continued, straightening his neck. "I do not think I need to be told."

The crafters' mild panic turned to astonished frowning.

"She associated with a human," said Thranduil, and several of them gasped.

"My lord," said Winye, half-rising, but Thranduil bade him sit back down.

For my own part, my stomach was churning and my heart was about to make a break for it through my ribcage. Thranduil and I had had the same thought, apparently.

"I am right, am I not?" he said.

Winye nodded. "There is one outside who knows the full story. If you would like me to fetch him..."

"Please do," said Thranduil. "And we will speak with him alone, if you do not mind."

The elves could not refuse a king – especially one who was on their side. They rose reluctantly and filed out, each bowing extravagantly before disappearing through the grated door.

"Thranduil, do you think...?" I said, my breath right at the top of my lungs.

"It is certainly possible," he said, reaching out a hand to clasp one of mine, which shook like a jelly on a bucking bronco. "Even likely. Twenty years, they said..."

"But it would mean she isn't here," I said, biting my lip. If it turned out after all that she was dead...

"You need to know, one way or another."

"I need to know _one_ way. I'd rather not know the other," I said.

"Do not be afraid." He kissed my knuckles. "To understand how and why your life came to be will help you, even if you can never know your mother."

"You're right, you're right," I said, my words blithering out in my anxiety. "But I'm scared, you know. It's really quite scary. But you're right. Of course, you're right."

My gabbling was halted by the arrival of a female elf in a headscarf with a tray of refreshments.

"Winye says to tell you the elf you want is coming right away, my lord, my lady," she said, putting down the tray in front of us and leaving in a bent-double position.

Thranduil lifted the tea pot and poured some dark brownish-greenish bitter-smelling liquid into the cups.

"Ah," he said. "Nettle tea. It is long since I tasted it."

"Is it nice?" I asked doubtfully, taking a cup and looking into its musty depths.

"No," said Thranduil. "It is generally drunk only in the coldest winters when nothing else can be had. But these elves live in such poverty, I imagine it is a staple for them."

"Well, I've heard of nettle soup," I said. "Though I've never eaten it."

I took a sip and grimaced. Its sharpness did little to quell my nerves. It was accompanied by a plate of oat biscuits. I nibbled the edge of one, but put it back down. It was completely unsweetened and more than a little stale.

"What if this all goes wrong?" I whispered to Thranduil. "What if we never get out of here?"

"You doubt me, elleth," he said, and he would have said more, but there was a hesitant knock on the door, very like the one I had not been allowed to answer the previous evening, and I put down my cup straightaway so that the nettle tea splashed my hand, burning it slightly.

"Enter," said Thranduil, and a red-haired male elf came in, stopping to give a perfunctory bow before raising his eyes to stare at me as if in wonder.

"Queen Catiel," he said, seeming to forget all about Thranduil's presence until he jerked himself out of his reverie and turned to him. "And King Thranduil. My name is Alorath. I am honoured."

"Please sit down," said Thranduil. "We are told that you know the story of Remula, who was exiled from this realm some twenty years ago. We are very curious to hear more of her tale."

"Are you, my lord?" said Alorath, looking a little confused. "For last night, when I came to tell it, you would not hear it."

"That was you," I said, leaning forward. "Eludin sent you?"

"She did," he said. "But you sent me away."

"Because we could not know that you were genuine," said Thranduil. "And we do not know your queen well enough to guess at her motives."

"Oh, undoubtedly she means well, my lord," said Alorath. "She is a kind spirit. We all wish her influence on King Vinwil could be greater."

I wanted to say _told you so_ to Thranduil but thought perhaps it wasn't the time for childish one-upmanship.

"But you will not report this conversation to her, or to anyone," said Thranduil, offering him one of the yucky biscuits.

"No, my lord. It would not be in my interests to do so. You will soon know why."

Thranduil lowered his head for a moment in acceptance.

"Then tell us of this Remula," he said.

Alorath seemed to have some difficulty swallowing the biscuit – understandably. He cleared his throat and spoke up.

"Remula had a great talent for crafting in wood, from an early age," he said. "When other elflings were playing on the boughs or at the falls, she liked nothing better than to come into the workshop and carve herself a little plaything from the wood in the leavings basket. She could handle the sharpest of blades without cutting herself before she was ten years old."

Hmm, this didn't sound like a hereditary trait. I had hated woodwork at school.

"As she grew, and her skill developed, it became clear to us in the guild that we had something extraordinary amongst us. She joined us gladly and became, in time, our finest crafter. But for Remula, that was not enough. She always had to find something new, some different way to better her craft.

At first, she took to roaming our woodland, taking inspiration from its forms and designs. Then the day came that she found something discarded at the forest's edge – and it was made from a wood she had never before encountered; one that does not grow here.

She became possessed by the idea of seeking out and crafting in new and different woods. She read everything we had in our libraries on the subject, and she was restless and full of need to go out of our realm and find these pines and cedars and...I don't recall what others, but there were many."

I was fascinated by this. My mother – if Remula was my mother – had been a wood geek. Perhaps we did have some elements in common after all.

"We tried to persuade her that she did not need to leave the forest," continued Alorath, his voice trembling a little. "But she would not be told. She had explored to the very edge of the woodland and she had seen that there was land beyond it. Despite knowing the dire penalties that awaited any elf who crossed into the territory of the humans, and the myriad dangers she might find there, one night she slipped out of our safe underground home and went to see it."

"The human world," I breathed. My world. My town.

"Yes, my lady," said Alorath, looking at me intently. "That place outside of here, to which Vinwil banishes the disobedient."

"Did he find out?" I asked.

"Not the first time, nor yet the second or even up until the seventh. She came back each time, glowing with triumph, her haversack filled with sticks and twigs and blocks of different woods. She had found a place called a garden centre and she spent many a night there."

"Not Rivendell Garden Centre!" I couldn't help myself, but Thranduil hushed me with a none-too-gentle tap to my hand.

"I know not the name," said Alorath sadly. "When she returned, she was full of what she had seen. Wondrous things, beyond our understanding. Tools which operated themselves, on the end of long coils of strange string. She told us that humans had found such creative ways to pursue our craft, and she railed against Vinwil and his policy of keeping us away from anything human and new. On the second to last time she came back, she brought such a strange thing – she said it was a drill, but she could not demonstrate its workings as you needed some human power to do it."

"Electricity," I said, and he nodded.

"The last time she came back, she had been gone three days. Her absence was noted and when she returned she was stopped by the guards. She had in her pocket a number of human tools, including a strange planing device clad in an unfamiliar material she called plastic. She was summoned before Vinwil and asked to account for her possession of these items. She told him the truth – all of the truth. That they had been given to her by her human lover, a man who owned a workshop in the town."

"Oh dear," I said, trying to think of any such workshops, but I didn't know any. I wasn't really into woodwork, as I've said.

"Vinwil decreed that she should be exiled, but we all rose up in arms against the decision. We would not lose our finest crafter! And, for once, Vinwil accepted what we said. Remula's exceptional talent saved her – for a time. But when it became clear that she expected a child, he had her imprisoned. He intended to keep her at work, carving from her prison cell. This was what caused the worst riot, but he held his ground and would not release her. When her elfling was born – without our ears – he ordered her taken to the forest and abandoned. It was me..." Alorath choked suddenly and tears filled his eyes. "Oh, cruel," he whispered. "It was me he ordered to do it."

"And you..." I prompted, my own eyes fuzzy with fat unshed tears.

"I took the baby and left her in a hollowed tree trunk. I went to the very edge of the forest, where humans sometimes passed, thinking she would have a chance of surviving if she was there."

He broke down, weeping, and I joined him. Thranduil nudged me up from my chair and took me on to his lap, where I sobbed into his robes, hoping I wasn't ruining the sumptuous silks. I was safe now. I wasn't abandoned in the tree trunk any more. I was with my husband, my king, my love. It gave me strength and pulled myself together, ready to ask more of Alorath.

"I suppose no other baby was taken there?" I said. "Not in that year...to that place...?"

"It had been many years since one of our kind had joined with a human," he said. "And none has done it since." He held out a hand to me. "My lady," he said. "Are you that baby?"

"I am," I said, bursting into fresh tears.

He took my hand and placed it on his heart.

"Then you are my granddaughter," he said.

I did a slight double take. He looked no more than ten years older than me. But then, that was elves. I stood up and threw my arms around him and we wept together.

"Remula...you were her father?" I gasped.

"I was. I am. I hope she lives still, though I know not where."

"She isn't here? She escaped from prison?"

"Vinwil's response to our protests was to banish her. We knew nothing of it until after it was done. He had her taken by guards in the dead of night and left at the border of the forest. I have never seen her since."

I reached into my pocket and brought out the tiny carved animals we had found in the hollow tree.

"I found these," I whispered. "In the place where I was left."

"Oh." He laughed through his tears. "These are my work. I leave one every year, on the date of your birth. I always wonder if Remula will one day leave a token of her own, but so far..." He shrugged, swallowing.

"I am so happy to have found you," I told him.

"And I you. And a queen! My granddaughter, married to the great elven-king Thranduil. It is beyond all expectations."

"Father-in-law," said Thranduil, rising and extending his hand to Alorath. "My respects."


	20. Elf Worth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! And there I was, thinking it was quite thick enough already ;). Thanks to all readers assisting me in my indulgence.

So there we all were, a happy family. Grandfather, granddaughter and her husband. But of course, there were some missing faces in the heartwarming scene.

"Did she ever say anything about him?" I asked tremulously. "I mean, Remula. Did she tell you anything about the human she'd been spending time with?"

"Your father," said Alorath with a sigh. "Alas, her mother and I refused to hear any talk of it. We were so afraid for her, and so we turned our faces from her, in that respect, although of course we loved and supported her in everything else."

"It is understandable," said Thranduil, "given your circumstances. Might I ask about Vinwil's – to me, at least – excessive hatred of humans? I presume he has good reason for it?"

"You know nothing of our realm?" Alorath seemed surprised.

"I have missed the passing of ages," said Thranduil. "I have been...elsewhere...for a very long spell."

"We all lived in peace for many an age," said Alorath. "The humans did not disturb us, nor we them. But slowly...steadily...they came to take our woodlands. Many were cut down to make roads and housing. Entire clusters of elven habitation were destroyed and, in many cases, elves were murdered."

"I've never heard of this," I exclaimed. "Humans don't even believe in elves any more. Wouldn't this have been recorded?"

Alorath shook his head. "I know nothing of the human version of history. I know that there are some here who lost their kin."

"Then I'm sorry," I said. "That sucks. And I'll admit – I might have human blood, but there have been plenty of crappy humans. Perhaps Vinwil has a point."

"Man grew too powerful," suggested Thranduil. "Perhaps we should have done something about it, while our numbers were equal. Perhaps we could..."

He broke off and sat down in his armchair again, deep in thought.

"Do not judge Vinwil too harshly for his fear of humans," said Alorath gently to me. "He has sound reasons for his fear. We are the last of our kind, and we know not how long we will be left alone."

"No," I said, thinking of how the town had grown and encroached right on the border of the forest. It would only take one more estate of overpriced shoeboxes and these people – my people – would be toast. But if Alorath was right, and humans had knowingly slaughtered elves, why had it been kept so quiet? After all, we all knew about other shameful episodes in humanity's past. Massacres, genocides, holocausts. 

But those had been human against human. 

This was different. Nobody wanted it to be known about, because nobody wanted to shoulder the guilt. There were no 'other people' to be pointed at. We were all implicated.

"How long ago was all this?" I asked.

"Oh, many hundreds of years, for the most part," said Alorath. "The Welsh lot ran off to Valinor before it could happen to them. They thought we should do the same, but Vinwil would not. But there is no other place to shelter now."

"Mainland Europe?" I suggested. 

"Deep in their heartlands, yes, but how to get there?"

"So when my mother..." I said, not sure how to word my thought.

"When she married with a human," said Alorath softly, his face crumpled in agony. "It was a shock to us. A terrible shock."

"Other elves have done it, though," I said.

"Yes, there was a time, a hundred years ago or more, when many of our elves went to seek their fortunes in the human world. Nobody knows what happened to them. Vinwil would not have them back."

"And my mother is out there among them," I said, looking forlornly at the grille in the door. "Perhaps," I added.

"I have sometimes considered going out to look for her," said Alorath. "But your grandmother has always dissuaded me."

"I have a grandmother," I said wonderingly. "I mean...apart from my other ones."

Alorath frowned at this, then nodded with resignation.

"Of course, you were brought up by strangers. By humans. I am sorry."

"Oh, you needn't be. They were very nice. I had a good childhood."

Alorath seemed almost to take offence, then he smiled.

"Good," he said. "Though it pains me that I never saw you grow. You have grown as a human, not an elfling, for you cannot be more than twenty years old."

"Yes. Young to you, I suppose," I said. I turned to Thranduil. "Do you think we could go and visit my grandmother?"

"Tomorrow, perhaps," he said.

"Oh." Disappointment stung me.

"For today we cannot part," he reminded me, "And I cannot leave this cell or our ruse will certainly come to light. Tomorrow, perhaps you can visit her alone."

I supposed that was reasonable.

"How long will we be stuck down here anyway?" I asked.

Thranduil raised his palms.

"I cannot say. If all goes well, no longer than one day."

"But if it doesn't?"

"It will," he said.

"If you do not mind my asking," said Alorath, clearing his throat, "how did you meet?"

"It's complicated," I said.

"Very," agreed Thranduil. "And now, I am afraid I must ask you to leave us. We married but two days since. I am sure you will understand."

"Oh!" said Alorath, stepping back. "Yes, of course. Please send for me, or my wife, whenever you wish."

I caught him and gave him a hug before he could leave.

"I am so glad to have found you," I whispered.

"And I you," he said. "We will see a great deal of each other in the future, I am sure."

It was weird to embrace a young-looking and handsome man and know that he was your grandfather. I almost wondered if Thranduil would be jealous, but of course, to him it was completely normal.

Once we were alone, I sat down in the armchair beside him, my head still spinning, laid back against the cushions.

"This is just so incredible," I said. "I have blood relations, right here." I took a few breaths, waiting for my whirling thoughts to settle. "But I need to find my mother."

"How is that possible?" said Thranduil. "She is with the humans now, if she still lives."

"Are you saying that I can never go back there?" I sat up, turning to face him.

He gazed at me, almost through me, for a long time.

"No," he said at length. "That is not what I am saying. But finding your mother cannot be a priority, even a possibility, until matters are settled here."

"Until the workers get their pay rise?"

"We may have a fight on our hands."

"You don't think Vinwil will give in?"

"He doesn't seem the type."

"No," I agreed. "He doesn't, does he? So...we might be shut in here for a while?"

"No, of course not. Our captors know we are here voluntarily. But I have intervened in this realm's fate now, and I cannot stand back and allow events to take a course I have, in part, fashioned. If the elves of this realm need my help, then I must give it."

"Are you talking about...civil war?" I looked quickly at the grille, feeling it would be all too easy to overhear us.

"I hope it will not come to that," he said, but he didn't seem entirely convinced.

I wanted to say I had never signed up for danger and bloodshed, but I knew there was no point. I was here now. And he was right – the elves here needed help. It was time to stop being a scaredy-cat human and try thinking like an elven-queen. What would an elven-queen think in this situation? Perhaps I should ask him.

"I'm trying very hard," I said, "to act like an elven-queen. What would an elven-queen say to that?"

He leant forward and cupped my face in his hands.

"I think she would say, 'cover that grille, my lord, and let's to bed'," he whispered.

Bang! Every wobbly thought and doubt in my head exploded into nothing, just like that. The politics, the emotions, the family stuff would all take care of itself...after midnight. Until then...

The last gasp of the bonding magic was more like a full-bodied blast of breath. Somewhere outside of us, I occasionally heard knocks on the door or hesitant queries, but they always went away in the end, leaving us to our final hours of intense togetherness. We didn't eat or drink or sleep and neither did we feel the need. Now we understood each other, and we had no other desire in mind but to give and receive pleasure.

"Sweet Eru," said Thranduil, at last finding the limits of even his impressive reserves of stamina and throwing himself on to his back on the bed. "But I had no idea it could be so."

I yawned. It was about all I could do. When I opened my eyes, I was mildly surprised to find that we were still in the same muddy little hole we'd been in hours previously. I had honestly thought we'd been carried somewhere far beyond experience, into the skies.

"Didn't you?" I said drowsily. "No. Me neither."

"I am grateful to you," he said. "I would never have known...That thing you did with your mouth..."

"No worries," I replied, snuggling in closer. "'S'pleasure." 

Everything ached. Even my eyelashes. Even my toenails. But I couldn't have cared less. There was surely no finer way to spend twelve hours in an underground cell. And now I really had to rest...

There was a knock at the door.

This time, Thranduil did not ignore it.

"Who is there?"

"It is Winye, my lord. Will you admit me? I have brought food, for you must be in need of it by now..."

"I find that I am. Come in."

"What?" I squeaked, pulling the blankets up over my head. I didn't want anyone to see me in this condition, let alone some strange political agitator who had probably been matey with my mum.

"My lord, we...er. Oh. I do beg your pardon."

"Come in, and bring me the tray. You need not be coy. It is past midnight and so I have gone to bed. Is that so very unusual?"

"Oh, no, of course, my lord. Here. It is not much but the bread is today's, and the soup has barley in it. It will keep your strength...up." He coughed.

"You are kind." I heard the spoon clatter against the bowl. "It is more than sufficient. My love?" He pulled the blanket off my face. "You really ought to eat, you know."

"I would, but..." I grumbled, clutching the sheets tight over everything below my neck.

"You are a queen," he whispered. "You do not feel undue shame."

"Oh, don't I?" 

But his words made me sit up. Elven-queen I was, and elven-queenishly I had vowed to behave. So I was not going to let a little matter of extreme embarrassment put me off my food. I picked up the second spoon and dipped it into the bowl.

Thranduil tore off a piece of bread and fed it to me. 

Winye looked as if he found this rather sweet.

"You have something to say to me?" said Thranduil, eventually turning his attention back to our elven visitor.

"My lord, we have done little but talk of what has passed all day. My brothers and sisters in the crafting guild have all agreed."

"Agreed on what?"

Winye took a deep breath. "If Vinwil will not grant our wish tomorrow, then we are prepared to instigate revolution. And we want you as our king."

I watched Thranduil, my eyes wide, as he spent a great deal of time withdrawing the soup spoon from his lips.

"I am flattered," he said at last, giving the spoon to me. "But I have a kingdom of my own."

"You will not lead us? We thought your support..."

"Oh yes, you have my support in your cause, as far as that goes. But I cannot be instrumental in the forcible removal of another elven-king. It just isn't done."

Winye's face fell. 

"Oh. Then...?"

"Violent insurrection will not solve matters," said Thranduil. "Indeed, it would probably worsen them. But perhaps there is another way."

"What?" asked Winye eagerly.

"I do not know," said Thranduil. God, he was a tease. I wanted to slap him myself. Winye's fingers must have been itching. "Best we wait and see if Vinwil will appease you first. And now, if you do not mind, my queen and I are both very tired and must rest."

"Of course, my lord. My lady." 

Winye left backwards, bowing as he went.

"Eat your bread," said Thranduil.

"That was quite an offer he made," I suggested. 

"An interesting offer," said Thranduil. "But impossible to accept, of course."

"Of course? Why 'of course'?"

"Because as soon as Saruman recalls me, this realm will be left without a ruler."

"Hmm," I said. "About that."

Thranduil put the empty soup bowl down on the floor before fixing his full attention on me, eyebrows raised in question.

"I suppose...I won't be left behind, will I?"

"Of course not. Have I failed to explain that the bond makes us one? If I am recalled, then so are you."

"Ah. Right. Well, thanks for the explanation."

I lay down, trying to get my head around the idea that I could be pulled right out of my time and space at any moment. Maybe in the next minute, or maybe in a hundred years from now...if I lived that long.

"Did Saruman give you any idea how _long_...?"

"He did not," said Thranduil tersely. "But I do not expect him to leave my kingdom leaderless for much longer than a week. The elven members of the White Council will speak up for me in that respect, I am sure."

"And then we will go to Mirkwood."

"You do not sound enthusiastic at the prospect," noted Thranduil.

"I don't know what to think of it. It's outside my range of normal experience. It's like...I can't really believe it's going to happen. This is a dream and I'll wake up from it any minute."

"But you do not dream," said Thranduil. "You told me so yourself."

"There's always a first time for everything," I replied, yawning.

"Catiel," he said in his lowest voice, his fingers brushing my cheek. "Rest now. You will feel differently in the morning."

Would I? Could I? But his instruction seemed to give my body permission to relax and before another word could be spoken I had drifted into a meditative state from which everything outside was barred.

The outside encroached on my meditations some hours later, when there was an urgent banging at the door.

I sat up hastily, and saw that Thranduil was already out of bed and pulling a cloak over his nakedness.

"Who is there?" he called.

"My lord, you have a visitor." It sounded like Winye's voice.

"Who visits at this hour?" demanded Thranduil.

"My lady, the Queen," replied the guard.

Thranduil looked around at me, putting a finger to his lips to indicate that I should remain silent, then gesturing that I should feign sleep.

I lay back down and turned on my side, away from prying eyes. What an interesting development this was.

"I should like to receive her," said Thranduil. "Will you let her in?"

The response was the turning of the key in the lock and the opening of the door.

"My lady Eludin," said Thranduil. "You must excuse my state of undress – I am unaccustomed to receiving guests at this hour."

"And in this place," she said, her disgust apparent in her voice. "My lord, I cannot stress too highly how mortified we are that you are in this position."

"You come here at Vinwil's behest? Pray, take a seat."

There was a pause.

"No," she said in a low voice.

"And without his knowledge?"

"Hence the unsociable hour," she said with a self-conscious little laugh. "Is Catiel awake? I would like it if she could join us."

"I am afraid she needs her rest. I will not disturb her."

"As you wish," she said with a little sigh. "These must be strange times for her."

"No stranger than for me," said Thranduil coldly.

"Oh, I think surely a _little_ stranger," said Eludin. "Given her heritage."

I tensed beneath the blanket. I knew I had given this away to Eludin myself, but it still sounded threatening.

"You speak out of turn," said Thranduil, and I knew that tone. Eludin would have to back down if she didn't want to catch frostbite from it.

"My lord, please do not treat me as an enemy. I am your friend – yours and Catiel's. I sent Alorath to her last night so that she might know her own grandfather."

"I must ask you to leave."

"Please listen to what I have to say."

I was strongly tempted to pop my head out of the blanket and add a plea of my own. I very much wanted her to be on our side.

"I am prepared to defy Vinwil over this matter of the crafters' pay," she continued in a headlong rush. "I will take your place as hostage here."


	21. Elf Sacrifice

I sat up in bed, staring at her, heedless of my scarecrow hair and generally wrecked physical condition.

Thranduil was giving Eludin a long, cool look. Eludin herself looked as flushed and flustered as I felt.

"Why would you do that?" said Thranduil eventually.

"My lord, please believe that I love and am loyal to my king. But there must be change here, or our kingdom will become a mockery of what it should and could be. What it once was."

"Then surely what you should do is raise the matter with Vinwil. I cannot see what good will come of creating a schism between husband and wife."

"I have raised the matter so many times that I cannot count them," said Eludin passionately. "He will not listen. He is deafened by anger and fear. And utterly in the thrall of his advisor."

"Ruadan?"

"Yes. I am queen in name only, for it is to Ruadan that my husband turns when he is in need of a sounding board. And Ruadan only offers an echo of all Vinwil's worst anxieties. If we do not take a different tack soon, we will all be living in darkness. If and when our son comes to inherit, there will be nothing left of us."

Thranduil thought about this, his fingers steepled.

"Do you not think that Vinwil might relent anyway, given that I am held hostage? Why do you risk your own position when there may not be need?"

Eludin shook her head, tears starting in her eyes. "I know he has no intention of relenting," she said. "He and Ruadan decided as much when they met last night. They are prepared to sacrifice you and Catiel."

Thranduil's eyes widened. "They are?" he said incredulously. "Surely not."

"For all the lip service he pays to your greatness and honour, he would have you killed before he altered his position. Besides, I think he is jealous of you."

"Why so?"

"His position in the history books will never match yours."

"Indeed not, if he becomes responsible for my death. He will be notorious."

"He is beyond caring, my lord. And that is why I beg you to accept my proposal. You and Catiel can leave this place and return to the safety of your own realm. As for us, we must settle our own affairs. I am prepared to die for this cause."

"Oh my God," I said, unable to hold my thoughts in any longer. "Eludin, you can't."

Thranduil glanced at me, then turned back to Eludin.

"I agree with Catiel," he said. "I admire your courage, but I cannot be instrumental in setting husband against wife. It is not right. It offends against every one of my elven sensibilities. And I certainly have no desire to have your death upon my conscience."

"Then what of Catiel's? Would you keep her here, knowing that she is in grave danger?"

Thranduil's face darkened. "Do you doubt that I will do all in my power to protect her?"

"No, of course I do not, my lord, but..."

"I can leave whenever I like," I said, my words zooming me into the centre of their attention. "Thranduil is the hostage, not me. I could walk free right now, if I wanted to."

"Then leave," urged Eludin. "I will take your place."

"I won't go without him," I said. 

"It may yet come to that," he warned me.

"No, it can't. I know the three days are over now and technically we can separate, but I couldn't just leave you here. I couldn't."

"Let us not consider what _might_ happen, but what inevitably _will_ ," suggested Thranduil. "My lady, you say that your husband has no intention of yielding in any measure to the crafters' demands?"

"I do say so. He has stated it in the most emphatic terms."

"Then, at the appointed time, he is prepared to see me...I cannot predict my fate, but possibly...die?"

"He has said it. He says you have lived long enough and will not begrudge an honourable death in the name of his kingdom."

I gasped. "Look, can I just get out of here and go and kill the bastard myself? I really feel as if I could."

"Your suggestion is not helpful, my love," said Thranduil, frowning at me, but I don't think he was really that pissed off with me. "Of course, Vinwil does not know the full truth of the situation," he continued.

I stiffened, wondering if he was going to admit to Eludin that this whole hostage thing was staged. But he didn't.

"The full truth?" said Eludin.

"It does not matter," said Thranduil, eyeing me in a 'Don't Say A Word' kind of way. "Then let us consider what might come of your plan to substitute yourself for us. Do you think it would alter Vinwil's resolution?"

"I can no longer be sure that my life is worth enough to him," said Eludin, biting her lip. "He may well be content to see me die. But, you see, the crafters would not kill me."

"Can you be certain of that?"

"As certain as I am of anything," she said. "They know I am their ally. And...if it came to it...they would rise up behind me and do all they could to depose my husband and put my son Heolas on the throne."

"Heolas is an elfling."

"Yes, but I would be regent. It is my belief that the majority of elves in this realm would choose such an outcome, rather than this miserable half-existence we have been living since Remula was banished."

Thranduil exhaled heavily and put his hand to his lips, deep in contemplation.

"You would see your husband killed?" he said, shaking his head.

"No. I would not, of course not. I would see him removed from the throne – perhaps only temporarily. Until this realm is once more a stable and a happy place."

"Elf pitched against elf," said Thranduil. "It is a prospect that appals me."

"It is a last resort," said Eludin quietly. "After years of slow decline."

"You said yourself," I ventured, "that you thought this realm needed saving."

He looked at me, angrily at first, then I got a sense that my point had been accepted.

"I did," he conceded. "You are right."

There was a very loaded silence.

"Very well," said Thranduil, rising from his chair. "A queen shall stand against her king." He gave me a sharp look. "I trust that you will not take this as an example."

"I trust that I shall never have to," I replied smartly, provoking a faint smirk from Thranduil.

"Oh, thank you, thank you," breathed Eludin, doing about fifteen courteous head tilts at once.

"But I fear a simple exchange, me for you, will not be sufficient to ensure success," he continued. "Therefore I ask you, while the kingdom yet sleeps, to fetch your son."

Eludin started. "Bring...Heolas...here?"

Thranduil tilted his own head. "You do not fear that he will be ill-treated, do you? You have said that these crafters are your supporters and allies."

"No, of course not, but...he is only a boy. I would prefer it if he could be kept safe."

"No doubt, and I appreciate your need to protect him. I would feel the same, were it my son in question. But Vinwil's hand may be forced before any uprising is necessary, if he sees that his son is held hostage. He may relent at once."

"Oh, yes, I see that," said Eludin thoughtfully. 

"And less wounding to Vinwil's pride. He can tell himself that he did it for the greater good of his kingdom."

Eludin stood still for a moment, looking at the ceiling, then she nodded swiftly.

"I will wake him and bring him," she said.

"Be swift. There are yet two hours until morning, but we must act quickly," said Thranduil, watching her leave the cell.

"My God," I said, shivering under the bedclothes. "I hope she's going to be OK."

"Get up and get dressed," he said tersely.

"Yes, my lord," I grumbled, heavily emphasising the 'my lord' bit, but if he caught the sardonic inference, he didn't react to it.

He paced while I pulled on my clothes, brushing dirt and cobwebs off them first.

"What are we going to do?" I asked. "Where are we going to go? What if Vinwil figures out that we're..."

He went to the door and called in a low voice for Winye, who was still waiting outside.

"My lord," he said, hurrying into the cell. "What did Queen Eludin have to say to you?"

"She has made an offer, and if you are wise, you will accept it," said Thranduil. "She is willing to be your hostage – she and Prince Heolas – in return for our freedom."

Winye gaped.

"Can this possibly be true?"

"I hope you do not accuse me of lying," said Thranduil smoothly, holding up a hand to stem the flood of apologies that seemed sure to follow. "Yes, it is true. I hope that Vinwil will be very much more swayed by their plight than by mine, which I have heard sways him hardly at all."

"I knew her sympathies lay with us, but this is beyond anything I could have hoped for," said Winye. "Surely the king cannot deny us now."

"I hope you are right," said Thranduil, then he bent forward and said something to him in a low voice I couldn't quite catch.

Winye whispered back, and Thranduil nodded his thanks.

A few moments later, Eludin returned, leading a yawning Heolas by the hand.

"Why are we here?" he complained, looking around at the unimpressive surroundings. "Are we going to set King Thranduil free?"

"Yes, we are, my love," replied Eludin. "Lie down on the bed and try to rest a little. We will not be here long."

She shot Thranduil a look full of apprehension, and I could see that she was not happy about bringing her child down here.

"Not long at all," he said reassuringly. "And I know you will be a brave prince and take care of your mother."

Heolas stared dumbly up at Thranduil. I had a feeling his words had only served to add anxiety to the boy's confusion.

I turned to Winye. "You will be kind to them, as you were to us, won't you?" I said.

"Have no concerns," replied Winye. "We have nothing but love and respect for our queen and prince."

"And now we must leave you," said Thranduil, heading for the open door.

"Where will you go?" called Eludin.

He turned. 

 

"Can you tell me where Ruadan's chambers are?" he asked.

She was surprised but she stammered out some directions, while Winye disappeared to a cupboard in the main workshop.

He returned with Thranduil's sword, which Thranduil took and swooshed about for a bit as if re-accustoming himself to its weight before sheathing it.

This done, he held out his hand to me and strode off towards the lift at a rapid rate of knots, without even looking back at the interesting scene we left behind us.

"Ruadan?" I said.

"Yes," he replied, without elaborating. We reached the lift conveyance and began to rise. Before long we were out of those black bowels and into the pleasanter part of the realm, though all was very dark with only a few sconces lit here and there.

Alighting at the topmost level of the underground kingdom, we soon made our way to the royal chambers, where we had stayed before our sojourn in the basement.

"What are we doing?" I whispered to Thranduil. "Can't we just go and stay with my grandparents until all this blows over?"

"You will see them again before too long," he whispered back. "But first, we must remove the canker from the king's heart. A little healing, you might say."

"Do elves get cancer?" I asked in surprise.

"No, but I know of the human maladies," he replied. "It's amazing what one learns in such a long life as mine. I have read about the anatomies of every species in Middle Earth during various fits of boredom."

He stopped at a doorway, looking up and down the corridor to make sure it was the right one.

He held up a hand, implying that I should stay outside, and gently – elvishly gently – opened the door.

I peered into the darkened interior as he strode across, unsheathing his sword as he walked.

Oh God, he wasn't going to―

"Thranduil, no!" I called, unable to stop the tremulous cry from breaking forth.

He did not even look back at me. He stood over a bed, his sword drawn, and snapped his fingers over the face of the resting occupant.

That occupant – I had to suppose it was Ruadan, though I could not make out his face through the gloom – came to suddenly and with a whimper.

"I bid you good morning," said Thranduil softly.

"What...what is...?"

"Shall we dress first and talk later?" suggested Thranduil, with an urbane tilt of his head.

"I...no! What is happening?"

Thranduil did not reply, although you could call the way he moved his sword an inch closer to Ruandan's neck a reply of sorts.

"All right," said Ruadan, holding up his palms in surrender. "Just...just let me..."

Thranduil stood back and watched Ruadan throw on some clothes over his nightgown, then pull on his boots.

"Is it the king? Is he well? Has something happened?"

"The king is well," said Thranduil.

"But you are no longer held hostage?"

"So it appears."

Thranduil would be drawn no further, simply waiting in silence for Ruadan to make himself ready. When he reached for his sword belt, Thranduil brandished his blade once more. 

"That should not be necessary," he said. "Leave it and follow me."

"You are a king," said Ruadan pettishly. "But you are not _my_ king."

It mirrored the remark Thranduil had made the day before about Ruadan not being his advisor. _Touché_ , I thought, and if I'd had a hat to tip, I'd have tipped it.

"Nonetheless, you will do as I bid you," said Thranduil calmly, ushering him through the door.

Ruadan stopped to give me a rather insolent up-and-down look.

"You have brought your queen too," he said. "Such an exotic creature."

Thranduil jabbed the point of his sword into the back of Ruadan's neck.

"Speak one more word about my wife and I will break my lifelong vow never to harm another elf," he said.

Ruadan sniffed and bowed his head.

"What is this about?" he muttered. "You are taking me somewhere?"

"Let me show you," said Thranduil, keeping his sword gripped in one hand and taking my arm with the other.

"To the crafters, no doubt," he surmised, but he was surprised when we took a different route, away from the crazy elevator. "Not to the crafters. Then where? And how do you come to be at liberty?"

"That need not concern you," said Thranduil.

"It will concern the king, when he finds out that I have been subjected to this treatment!"

"Will it? And why is that?"

"Because...of course...because I am his most valued servant."

"And I am his equal," said Thranduil. 

"But not in his affections," said Ruadan. "You are far below me in those."

Thranduil led us along the broad, sweeping pathway that led outdoors. We were leaving the underground kingdom? Why? Where were we going? I was itching to ask, but Ruadan was hogging the questioning.

"It is for your king that I do this," said Thranduil, and Ruadan turned to him with astonishment written all over his sneery, pointy face.

"Vinwil ordered this?"

"Oh, no, he knows nothing about it," said Thranduil. "Yet I do this for his benefit."

"Do what?" I asked, no longer able to contain myself.

The look on Ruadan's face begged to be punched off it.

"He hasn't confided in you?" he jeered. "Well, I can't say it surprises me."

"Did you not hear what I said earlier?" Thranduil's tone was the reddest of red alerts and Ruadan took on a more subdued air and pretended nothing had been said.

We had arrived at the exit. The guards on duty let us out without a word, recognising our status and apparently unfazed by Thranduil having his sword in hand.

Outside, the forest was dark and freezing cold, and snow lay on the branches, as well as thickly underfoot. It was still two or three hours before sunrise and owls hooted above us, enjoying the last of the dark. If we were going somewhere, we would need pretty amazing eyesight. Though actually, my eyesight was a lot sharper than it used to be, and I seemed to be able to see stuff a lot further off.

"Why have you brought me out here?" asked Ruadan, suddenly a lot less brash, his teeth chattering in the cold. "Do you mean to kill me?"

I'd been wondering the same thing.

"Above all things, I avoid the shedding of elven blood," said Thranduil. "But do not think that I will scruple if you try to elude me."

"Elude you in what?"

"I am taking you somewhere that will broaden your horizons, Ruadan," he said.

"I don't want to broaden them," he objected.

"I did not offer you a choice." Thranduil put his sword away and extended his arm towards a dark gap between trees. "Onwards."

"Thranduil," I said, having had enough of his gnomic utterances now, my teeth chattering in concert with Ruadan's. "Where the hell are we going?"

"We are going to find your mother," he said.


	22. Elf Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my reviewers - you give this story continued life! And now - into the forest...

"Her mother?" 

"My mother?"

Ruadan and I spoke in chorus, though my words lacked the sneer of his.

"Yes," said Thranduil, putting a hand between Ruadan's shoulder blades and propelling him into the thickets. "Remula. You may recall her?"

"Certainly I do," said Ruadan, cursing as the branches tore at his hair. He stumbled forwards as Thranduil gave him another shove. "She shamed us all. She was a human's whore."

The sleek, silvery sound of Thranduil's sword snaking out of its sheath again soon shut him up though.

"I may have to extend that threat I made to speaking ill of my wife _and her entire family_ ," said Thranduil laconically, running the tip of his sword down Ruadan's back so that it made a slit in his cloak. "I hope you understand me."

"I understand you," he grunted.

"How are we going to find her?" I said, my mouth finally catching up with my brain.

"The stars will lead us," said Thranduil. "They have not yet let us down."

"Really? What if she's...if she...isn't alive?"

Thranduil inhaled deeply.

"What if we assume she still is?" he said. "It has been only twenty years, after all."

"But she will be mortal now, if she has chosen that path," I said.

"Then we will know," he said, more gently. "And you will no longer wonder."

And there was still every chance I'd find my dad, I thought with rising excitement.

"But why does he have to come with us?" I asked.

"Because he needs to see humankind at first hand. If he finds he cannot dismiss his prejudices, than I have at least done what I could. If, on the other hand, he finds them less loathsome than he expected, I have done some good."

"You cannot make me sit down with men!" shrieked an appalled Ruadan. "I will not do it."

"You will do as you are told," Thranduil warned him, with a little more creative slashing of fabrics. "Besides, with this little parasite off the king's flesh, he may find it easier to negotiate with the crafters."

"Oh. Yes. Good thinking," I said.

"I am known for it," said Thranduil suavely.

"Along with your great modesty?" I suggested.

"A terribly overrated quality," he said.

"Now there I agree with you," piped up Ruadan.

"Then I may change my opinion," said Thranduil, cutting down some of the worst of the thicket that stood in our way. "Where is this path? Do you recall it being so far from the track, Catiel?"

"Heolas led us some distance from it," I said, trying to think back to that strange and confusing journey.

But I couldn't concentrate, especially as all kinds of realisations were crowding into my consciousness.

Realisation 1: My eyesight and hearing had improved beyond the point I would have thought possible. I could see trees half a mile away as if they were right in front of me, and I could catch little, subtle sounds that would normally have been drowned out by the cracking of twigs.

Realisation 2: I didn't need to lean on Thranduil in order to do the glidey, light-footed walk any more. It was happening by itself.

Realisation 3: I wasn't afraid. The dark, the potential attackers in the wood, the thought of going back into the human world looking like this – it was all just so many barriers to be climbed. We would get through them and then tackle the next thing.

My God. It was so strange. Was this the way Thranduil thought? If only I could have felt like this in my younger days. I would have auditioned for all the school plays and confronted all the bullies and done that bungee jump on holiday in Tenerife. I felt invincible.

"Vinwil will miss me when he wakens," said Ruadan. "He will question the guards and send them after you."

"I think I would prefer it if you walked in silence," said Thranduil. "From now on, speak only when addressed."

But he quickened his pace all the same, even though the moon still shone high and there were no streaks of light visible through the tangle of branches ahead of us.

It was a long and arduous hike through the forest, but I felt a sense of purpose and optimism that kept me putting one foot ahead of the other. Today could be the day I met my mother! And my father! The hopes were almost too heady to entertain.

When at last we found the path, my heart leapt again. We were so close now to the town and all its secrets.

The hollow tree trunk in which I had spent my earliest hours loomed up into view, its shape unmistakable even in the dark.

Thranduil ordered Ruadan to stop and look at it.

"What of it?" he asked irritably.

"Whilst you and I had cradles to sleep in, my queen's crib was this tree," said Thranduil. "It was by Vinwil's decree that she was to be left out here to die."

Ruadan said nothing, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.

"His order, not mine," he muttered eventually.

"Oh, and I suppose you advised him against it, did you?"

Ruadan looked away.

"It was by great good luck that she was found by a passing man. And her luck became my luck – and our luck will become your luck, and the luck of all your kingdom, if you will but open your mind and allow it."

"Ill luck!" exclaimed Ruadan. "That is the only kind of luck the humans have brought us. There was forest once, where that settlement stands, and many of our kind were slaughtered there. Vinwil and I both saw it happen."

"Yes, and you have cause to be angry with those that killed your kin. But are those humans still living?"

"No, of course not. It was hundreds of years ago."

"I really don't think it would happen today," I said to him, a little impulse of sympathy tugging at my heartstrings. "Elves would not be killed. But they would certainly make the news headlines."

"You would say that," snarled Ruadan. "But your species eats flesh. How should I begin to trust them?"

"When I was found, in poor health, by humans, they treated me well and tried their best to heal me," said Thranduil. "There was no thought of killing. However, I must remember to conceal myself from their law enforcers."

He turned to me, frowning, then continued talking to Ruadan.

"The fact remains that elves abandoned my wife as a baby, and humans saved her."

"Killing is really not allowed," I added. "Unless in war or self-defence. Otherwise, it's definitely totally illegal. So you shouldn't worry on that score."

"Well, now you have seen the humble origins of my queen," said Thranduil, pointing his sword along the path. "Onwards."

"If you think this will have the slightest influence on Vinwil and his policies..."

"Let us not debate here," said Thranduil. 

Not too far ahead I could see where the woodland grew sparser before reaching its border with the allotments. It was less dark; the skies were a steel grey and there was a bright whiteness beneath them. More snow was visible around us now, as well, though it was beginning to thaw. Occasionally a great icy globule fell from a branch, landing softly in the hard mud.

At last, we reached the fence and looked out over the patchwork of allotments. The shed roofs were all thick with snow still, but on the ground it was more piecemeal. Some owners had cleared it from their patches, while others had left their plots alone until balmier times. Grandad's was still a gleaming white square, with rotting raspberry canes sticking out of it at crazy angles.

A lump came to my throat. This was my land, still, despite everything that had happened to me. My strange calm and fearlessness might be fully elven, but part of my heart would always live here.

Thranduil invited Ruadan to climb the fence first. He baulked, even at the sight of the drawn sword, shaking his head with a look of real panic on his face.

"I cannot go into that hostile land," he said, his voice shaking. "Please. Do not make me. I...if there is any other way I can be of help to you..."

"You are a coward," said Thranduil, sounding amused. "You will oppress your fellow elves the livelong day, but you will not walk into a foreign place."

"Bear in mind what I have seen," he gabbled, "and what happened here. I beg you." He dropped to his knees, hyperventilating.

Thranduil curled his lip and bent to address the shivering wretch.

"Do you think you are the only one who has seen terror and death? You forget who I am and what I have known in my life. Your clashes with humans of ages past are _trivial_."

Ruadan raised fearful eyes to my husband's burning ones.

"Be an elf, Ruadan," commanded Thranduil. "I would be ashamed to own you one of my subjects. Has Vinwil fallen so far? Queen Eludin would make ten of the pair of you."

This stung Ruadan into scrambling to his feet once more.

"What do you know of her?" he demanded. 

"More than you do, it seems," said Thranduil dryly. "Now come. Over the fence with you."

Ruadan must have accepted that Thranduil was not going to offer any alternative, because he slouched over to the fence and began to climb.

Thranduil followed him swiftly, lending me a hand when he reached the top. It was much easier to do it this time – I felt so unusually light, and I knew where to put my hands and feet. I had never realised climbing a fence could be so inspiriting.

I thought about looking in on Luke Hales – if he was still in the shed – but decided our first port of call really had to be mum and dad. They needed to know I was still alive, for one thing, and for another we couldn't ponce around town in regal elven garb. Especially with Thranduil on the local constabulary's Most Wanted list.

So I gave grandad's shed a swerve and headed for the high road. It ought to be quiet, if not empty, at 5.30 a.m. on a morning between Christmas and New Year. Even so, there was the off-chance of a passing patrol car, so I led us through back streets and across swing parks until we reached the back alleyway leading into my parents' cul-de-sac.

The road had been haphazardly swept clear of snow and the windows were all dark. Even the festive extravaganza at number three had had the plug pulled for the night.

"These are dwelling places?" said Ruadan, looking around him. He had cowered all the way here, as if expecting a band of humans brandishing machetes to leap out at any moment.

"Made of brick," I said. "Wait till you see indoors."

I didn't want to ring the bell and wake mum and dad up at this hour, so I went round the side to find the spare key buried in the rockery.

"Keep the noise down," I whispered, opening the door as quietly as I could and heading for the kitchen. "Sit down at the table and I'll see about getting us something to wear."

I reflected again, as I tiptoed up the stairs, on how unflustered I was feeling, and how much easier it was to think in this mindset. How the hell had I managed to flounder through life before? No wonder Thranduil had been exasperated with me at times.

I crept into my bedroom and exchanged the velvet gown and cloak for jeans and a jumper. That was easy enough, but how was I going to kit out Thranduil and Ruadan? I couldn't take them through town looking like elven lords; it was a recipe for disaster, unwanted attention and possible arrest.

I tiptoed back downstairs again and waved at our house guests as I made my way to the small laundry and utility room behind the kitchen. Score! A washing basket full of recently dried and folded dad-clothes.

Dad was several inches shorter than both Thranduil and Ruadan, but bigger round the waist – so his trousers would probably hang awkwardly and reveal their ankles. But it was the best I could do, given the circs.

I selected some baggy-arsed dad jeans and a pair of grey suit trousers. Actually, I thought I could quite dig seeing Thranduil in a suit, so I hoiked out the white shirt and dark tie as well. The dry-clean-only jacket would be hanging in the hall somewhere. Ruadan was going to have to make do with a chunky-knit jumper.

A couple of pairs of Christmas novelty socks and we were sorted.

"Here," I said, dropping the clothes on the kitchen table. "Get changed and I'll make us all some toast."

Ruadan was aghast. "You want me to dress in human clothes?"

"Yes," I said briskly, busy at the bread bin.

"Do as she says," advised Thranduil. "She knows this world and how to pass in it."

Ruadan stalked off into the living room, obviously a little coy at being seen in the altogether by a strange female, while Thranduil worked on trying to match my father's clothes to his own rather more magnificent dimensions.

"Tell me, what is this and how is it worn?" he demanded.

I turned from buttering the toast to see him proffering the tie.

He had left the top button of the shirt undone, for a start, so I wasn't going to be able to put it on. But I guessed that was because it would strangle him if he fastened it. As predicted, the trousers were baggy at the waist, but left all of the Simpsons novelty socks on show. Given that he was going to have to wear his boots anyway – I wasn't so heartless as to squeeze size 12 or 13 feet into a size 9 shoe – perhaps that wouldn't matter. But oh dear. He was hardly going to look inconspicuous.

"It's a stupid thing. I don't know what they're for, to be honest. But let's give it a try..."

I tied it loosely around his neck. He looked rather pleasingly like a rebellious sixth former in a band now. It was cute. 

"You might have to tie your hair back," I said, cocking my head to one side. "Or hide it somehow."

Ruadan stomped into the room, grumpy as fuck in his fisherman's jumper, saggy jeans and Rudolf the red-nosed reindeer socks.

"Humans have no elegance," he complained. "And no taste."

It was hard to contradict, looking at him.

I turned back to the toast to hide my smiles. "What do you like on your toast?" I asked. "Do you eat toast?"

"Honey," he said, sitting back down with a bump.

"Anyone want to try Marmite?"

"What is Marmite?" asked Thranduil.

"It's, er, a bit like Marmite," was the closest explanation I could muster. "OK, maybe stick with honey then."

I handed Ruadan and Thranduil a couple of slices each, with a cup of tea, then put some into the toaster for me.

Ruadan frowned into his tea cup. 

"This is not made from a herb I know," he said. He looked up and around him. "I do not know what all these things are. You have toasted bread without fire."

"Amazing, isn't it?" I said, wondering if scientific curiosity might thaw a bit of his anti-human feeling. "Oh, reminds me. I need to look on the computer."

I hurried next door and booted up the old desktop. It took its time, as usual, but eventually I was able to call up the internet and browse for woodwork experts in and around the local area.

Google had just furnished me with page one of one, when I smelled something acrid. I had only just remembered how the toaster failed to cope with multiple slices when the smoke alarm began to shrill.

"Oh SHIT!" I cried. "Out! Get out! Wait for me in the garden."

They made it through the front door just before the rumblings from upstairs were translated into thumping feet on the stairs.

I ran into the kitchen, pulled the plug from the toaster, switched on the extractor fan and posed myself against the worktop, smiling fixedly as dad burst in, brandishing a bedside lamp, which must have been the nearest weapon to hand.

"Dad!" I said brightly.

He put the lamp down and dashed his forehead with his hand.

"Katie! Where the hell have you been?"

"Long story. I'm really sorry to run out on you the way I did. I was worried for Thranduil, you know, when the police..."

"That ne'er-do-well," he growled. "I was hoping you'd seen sense and ditched him."

"Look," I said, fishing out the charred toast from the toaster and wondering if it was worth eating it anyway. On balance, probably not. I got another slice of bread from the pack and buttered it. "I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, but..."

"Oh! Love!" Mum had wandered in in her dressing gown, looking so tired and confused that I felt guilt-stricken. "I'm so glad...so glad to..."

She burst into tears. Oh boy, had I made a hash of all this. Stupid bloody elves and their crap timing. Couldn't Thranduil have showed up while I was at university? Nobody would have given two hoots about where I was and what I was up to then.

"I've been so worried," she sobbed, after I rushed to hug her. "The police...and that strange man...and your _ears_." She put her fingers to them, apparently dismayed to find them pointer than ever.

"Listen, mum. And dad. I love you. I wish I could stay. But I really have to go now. I'll try and explain everything later, I promise."

I extricated myself and headed for the front door.

"Katie!" bellowed my enraged dad. "You can't just..."

But I'd lifted an armful of outdoor wear off the hook and banged the front door after me.


	23. Elf Knowledge

"Hide your ears," I panted, flinging a selection of hats at my companions.

Ruadan reluctantly put a trapper hat on, hiding his ears with the low-hanging flaps. Thranduil wound up his hair and tucked it inside a striped bobble hat, knitted by mum for when dad went to watch the local football team lose every match in winter. It was in their colours of scarlet and gold, and looked very incongruous indeed alongside his suit, especially when he put on the jacket. The sleeves ended just above his wrists, exposing the unbuttoned cuffs of his white shirt.

"You look...er..."

Actually, they'd probably have been better off keeping their elven garb. People would have stared, but assumed some sort of fancy dress event or promotion, and moved on. Now they just looked plain weird.

But there was nothing to be done about it. I jammed on my crochet cap and led them out of the cul de sac.

It wasn't until we arrived on the main road that I realised I had no idea where we were going. I hadn't managed to look at the list of workshops on Google before the smoke alarm had done its thing.

"What had your parents to say to you?" asked Thranduil as we loitered on the street corner, watching the local newsagent raise his shutters.

"Nothing nice about you," I told him.

"It is to be expected. I have taken you from them," he replied.

Ruadan, who had been in some kind of silent frenzy until now, suddenly burst the dam.

"Why would you do that?" he demanded, wheeling around to glare at Thranduil. "Why would you choose a bride from this evil place?"

"It's not evil!" I insisted, though I sighed a bit, looking up and down the grey street with its slushy, litter-strewn kerbs. "Though it's not what you could call pretty."

The newsagent peered across the road at us as he put out his advertising board for the local paper. "Police Hunt Swordsman" was written across it in thick black marker. 

Oh dear. Luckily enough, Thranduil had left his sword in the kitchen, for my parents to...oh God...possibly hand over to the police. Well, it couldn't be helped. He'd have to get a new one.

"It is like an avenue of drear and greyness," objected Ruadan. "What good can possibly come of such a place?"

"Well, let's find out, shall we?"

Pretending I knew what I was doing, I set off at a clip towards the town centre. As we walked, an idea occurred to me, and I smiled at how my elven sensibilities assisted me now.

"Do you know where your mother is?" Thranduil asked me, apparently unconvinced by my efficient demeanour.

"No," I admitted. "But I have some idea how we can find out."

Ruadan shrieked in panic as a car swooshed by; the first of the morning.

"Don't worry," I said. "You'll see lots of those. As long as you don't jump in front of them, they won't hurt you."

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's a transport conveyance. Faster than a four-legged beast, and more comfortable."

"But how does it move?" He looked down the road after it, but it was already out of sight.

"Internal combustion engine," I said briefly. "Please don't ask me to explain. I'm not an engineer."

"What do you think of their light?" Thranduil asked him, pointing up at a street lamp. "I have never seen such brightness."

"It's fluourescent," I said. "Again, I can't offer an explanation. Kind of wish I'd done triple science now."

"It is like the light of the stars, but caught in glass," said Ruadan. 

The pair of them stood under the lamp post, gazing upwards, as if worshipping at an ancient statue or something. It was hideously conspicuous, even though nobody was around.

"Please – keep walking," I said nervously, noticing a woman in a blue uniform come out of the one of the flats above the shops, on the way to work.

"Walking where?" asked Thranduil.

"I'm taking you to the sales," I said.

The sun came up just as we crossed the no-mans-land of car parks and office blocks that skirted the town centre. Yawning shop workers joined us in our pilgrimage, or queued for coffees at the little mobile cafe at the corner of the station car park. The smell of frying bacon, usually so tempting, turned my stomach and I hurried onwards.

Every shop window was blanked out by massive sale posters. 

"What is this place?" breathed Ruadan, more fearful than ever. "It is not a kind place."

"No," I agreed. "This is our market place. It is where commerce is done."

"Market place?" Ruadan turned 360 degrees, perhaps looking around for the baskets of onions and stalls of wooden furniture he might expect to see at a market.

"Yes, and here is the market I particularly want to look at," I said, stopping in front of the biggest shop in town, a branch of a famous department store.

The doors had only been open five minutes, and I was a little nervous of going in while it was still so empty – surely we would be stared to death by the legion of bored till staff and security floorwalkers – but I pulled myself together and led us into Perfumes and Cosmetics.

Both Ruadan and Thranduil started coughing like mad – unused, I supposed, to man-made fragrances.

"What is this in the air?" uttered Ruadan in a strangulated tone. "It chokes me."

"Perfume," I said. "The scent is supposed to allure you."

We were observed with fascination by the orange-skinned human mannequins behind the counters – perhaps we should get out of this section as quickly as possible.

I marched us through Gifts and Kitchenware, then had a quick scan of the department list by the escalator. Third floor. Right.

"Up we go," I said, indicating the escalator.

Both of them stood at the foot of it, exchanging wary grimaces.

"It's just a staircase that moves," I said, remembering how awe-struck I'd been when I first encountered one, at the age of about two or three. "It isn't dangerous."

Thranduil was first to put a cautious foot on the lowest stair. He gripped the handrail and turned back to Ruadan.

"It is easy enough," he said. "Try it."

But I had to push him on to it in the end, or we'd have been standing around there for hours while Thranduil called down to us from the first floor. He wobbled around in front of me, trying to scramble back down so that I had to block his way, but eventually we arrived at Womenswear.

"Two more storeys," I told them. "Keep going."

The third floor had been my favourite floor as a child – all the fake bedrooms and living rooms to explore and pretend you lived in – but I was heading for the technology department.

I was drawn towards it by the vast quantity of huge televisions on the back wall, showing sports and cookery and travel programmes in hyper-vivid colour, but it wasn't the televisions I was after.

Ruadan stopped in front of them and gaped at James Martin preparing a turkey casserole. Hopefully that would keep him quietly occupied while I made a beeline for the computers.

"These things are beyond my comprehension," murmured Thranduil, gazing around at all the screens and black boxes of magic that surrounded us.

"Good," I said, finding my quarry and clicking at the mouse to bring up Google. "Tell you what – why don't you find the sales assistant and ask him to recommend a high quality budget-priced laptop?"

"A...?" Thranduil leant over my shoulder, watching as I typed in characters that may as well have been Greek to him.

"Oh. Of course. You can't. You don't speak English. Well... Just go and pretend to be really interested in that computer over there. They'll try and talk to you, at least. Might keep their attention off me for a few minutes."

"You want me to create a distraction? Well, that's easy enough."

He strolled away.

"Yes, but don't..." I called after him, looking around in sudden panic. He looked back at me, eyebrows hitched. "Don't do anything to make them call security."

He nodded, flashing his eyes as if I had insulted him, tossed his head, making the bobble on his hat wobble, and strode off towards Ruadan.

I shook my head and got back down to business. Woodworkers. Carpenters. Furniture makers. The list came up before I came to the attention of the sales staff. Shame it wasn't linked to a printer, but I did my best to memorise the short list that presented itself. 

"The Links Industrial Estate," I muttered. "Unit 12."

"Do you need any help?"

"Not really," I said in a monotone, hoping that would be enough to make them go away.

"This one's on sale today, £199 reduced from £399," she said helpfully. "A great bargain, and as you can see, it's got a pentium processor and..."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, trying not to let her sales patter interfere with my memorising.

A loud crash interrupted the unwanted conversation.

We both looked up to see Ruadan, having backed away fearfully from the TV screens, lying in the midst of a collapsed display of digital cameras.

That got rid of the sales assistant, who scurried over to deal with the catastrophe. In the meantime, I shut down the Google page and went to find Thranduil. It was time to leave.

I found him in the furniture section, lying full length on the most luxurious bed he could find. Appropriately, it was a king-sized model. A sales assistant was trying to talk to him, but apparently becoming increasingly frustrated at Thranduil's inability to understand a word he said.

"Thranduil," I said. "We need to rescue Ruadan and get out of here now." I turned to the sales assistant and spoke in English. "I'm sorry," I said. "He comes from a remote village in the mountains of Moldova. He's never been to a place like this before."

The sales assistant nodded slowly.

"Is he famous or something? I'm sure I've seen him somewhere before."

"Famous...in Moldova," I said, reaching out a hand to Thranduil, who seemed in no hurry to leave his comfortable billet. "Come on. Ruadan's got himself into a pickle over there."

Thranduil sat up grudgingly, but as he did so, his hat fell off and his hair spilled forth in all its light-catching glory.

The sales assistant stared. 

"I know where I've seen him." He backed away rapidly, pulling a walkie-talkie from his lapel. "Security. The swordsman. I've got the swordsman here. You know...from the local news..."

"Oh _Christ_ ," I wailed, grabbing Thranduil's hand and yanking him up. "We have to go _now_."

We hurried over to Ruadan, who was transfixed by the demonstration of digital photography the other sales assistant was treating him to, and grabbed his arm.

"This is so amazing!" he protested. "It is magic! My image, caught by that machine, more perfectly than a portrait. Vinwil will love it."

"Never mind that, we have to go," I panted, racing for the escalator. We charged down it three stairs at a time, leaping over the side as soon as we were low enough. I didn't even have time to marvel at how I was suddenly able to leap around like a kick-ass action movie heroine. It just sort of happened, and I was very glad of it.

But in Kitchenware, we were intercepted by a bevy of very heavy-looking men, looming out of the toasters and Gaggia coffee machines.

We were surrounded! What could we do?

I might have known we could rely on Thranduil. Diving for a slate block of premium Japanese kitchen knives, he withdrew the sharpest pair and began twirling them with the kind of grace and skill only possible in martial arts films. Except he wasn't the speeded-up stuntman from _Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon_. He was real.

"Shit!" shouted one of the security guards, taking a leap back.

"What the fuck...?" demanded another, gazing in wonder.

"He's unreal," murmured a female shopper, her eyes glazing over as if he'd handed her a bunch of red roses.

"Call the police!" screamed one of the till assistants, cowering behind her slab of shiny desk.

But Ruadan had taken the hint and grabbed some knives of his own. He wasn't quite as deft as Thranduil, but still plenty deft enough to frighten the block of security guards. They parted without a thought as Thranduil stepped forwards, still swishing the air with his blades. Ruadan followed, and I snatched a knife of my own, not wanting to be left out, and managed a reasonably creditable, if not terribly cinematic, brandishing.

We made it to the shop door then dropped the knives with a clang (and some regret – they were beautiful steelware) and ran like the clappers. Thranduil grabbed me before taking to his heels, and I was glad of it, because I'd never have been able to keep pace with his long legs, or those of Ruadan.

"Over the bridge," I panted, my heart so high in my throat I was sure I was going to throw up all over Thranduil's – dad's – decent suit jacket. We crossed the railway, dodged through the carpark and arrived at the Links light industrial estate – the location of the first workshop on the list.

"Oh God," I wheezed, leaning up against a shed while we caught our breath. "I thought we were goners then. Bloody hell."

"Why did they chase us?" Ruadan asked, shrugging off his jacket despite the bitter morning cold. His marble cheeks were scarlet, and so were Thranduil's.

"Thranduil managed to get himself a reputation," I said. "Having been here all of five minutes."

"Then you see that I am right, and they are our natural enemies," said Ruadan stonily.

"There was more to it than that," I said. "He happened to break the law, and the law doesn't always recognise good intentions. Here in England, you aren't supposed to go around waving swords at people. Unless you're in a fencing team."

"An unreasonable law," said Thranduil scornfully, and for once he and Ruadan appeared to be in agreement. 

"Anyway, I think we've shaken them off," I said, looking back to the railway bridge to make sure we weren't being chased by a baying mob. It seemed that, having left the shop, we were no longer of interest to its employees. The police would be looking for Thranduil now, though. We'd have to give the town centre a wide berth for the rest of the day.

I straightened up, my heart having returned to its usual spot in my ribcage, and took a look at the assortment of sheds and low brick buildings that made up the estate.

"So somewhere here is a workshop that makes wooden furniture and handicrafts," I said. "Let's see if we can find it."

We scoured the acres of industrial units until I began to think we must be mistaken, but at last, sheltered in the lee of a giant cash and carry warehouse, I found a little hut of breezeblocks with a corrugated iron roof. A big old-fashioned cartwheel hung on the wall, and outside were ranged a variety of garden ornaments, all hewn out of tree bark. I was admiring these, and thinking with a rush of excitement that they had a distinctively elven look, when a rugged-looking man of about fifty came out to add some more to the display.

He looked up, raising his eyebrows.

"Early birds," he said. "I'm not officially open for another half hour. Tell you the truth, I nearly didn't open up today. Business is slow this time of the year."

I tried to speak, but only gulps of air came out. Could this man be my father? There was something about him that made my skin prickle and my heart constrict. Plus, I ws sure I'd seen him somewhere before.

He put down his stock and gave us a closer, curious look.

"Are you lost?" he asked, then he saw Thranduil's ears, no longer hidden by the bobble hat, and his jaw dropped.

"I think...I hope...we're _found_ ," I gabbled, and he stared at me, his face suddenly pale beneath its ruddy natural hue.

"I think you'd better come inside," he said.

We wandered into a wonderland of amazing craftsmanship. The furniture was better than beautiful – it was beyond that. The contours, the curves, the shapes were so imaginative that they seemed to transcend their materials. This was woodwork of a higher order than anything I had seen.

"This is elven work," said Thranduil decisively, and Ruadan agreed.

"I think you have found..." his voice trailed off, and I gave him a swift look, to see his eyes haunted by something.

"Your language," said the stranger, halting at the back of the shed, where there was a rough kitchen corner with a sink and a kettle, which he filled. "What is it?"

"Do you know it?" I asked eagerly.

"I think I recognise it," he replied, turning back to me. His eyes were glistening. He was on the verge of tears! "Elvish."

"Yes," I said, and it came out as a sob. "Are you...do you know her...are you her...are you my...?"

He got some mugs out of a cupboard and banged them down on the worktop.

"If you have come for her, you can think again," he said, so angrily that I took a step back, dismayed. "You were quick enough to cast her out. Twenty years might be the blink of an eye to your kind, but it has been agony for her. I can't forgive you, even if she does."

Thranduil's eyes were alight with interest as he observed the man's distress.

"Why is he upset?" he asked. "Does he know Remula?"

"Yes," I whispered, then I spoke again to the stranger.

"I don't think you realise who I am," I said, fighting to keep my breath even. 

"An elf," he said with disgust. "One of those who cast her out and let our child die."

"No," I said, and tears had spilled on to my cheeks before I could say the words. "No, the child did not die. The child is here. I am the child."


	24. Know Your Elf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for all your lovely comments and suggestions for how the fic should continue. For all those who would like to see how Katie gets on in Thranduil's domain, I have a sequel in mind that will deal with that very subject... I'm not sure when I'll ever get a chance to write it, but hopefully it will happen. For now - we're back with Katie's real parents. Read on...

For a heart-freezing moment, he looked so furious I thought he might clonk me over the head with the kettle.

Then he sat down on one of his exquisitely-wrought, rather throne-like chairs and stared.

"This can't be right," he said, mopping his forehead with his sleeve. "Just can't be."

"Why not?" I asked gently. "Did you think I was dead?"

"Well...you _are_ , aren't you?" he said desperately.

My face crumpled. I couldn't answer for the lump in my throat. This was him. This was my dad.

I shook my head, the tears starting. Thranduil linked my fingers with his and squeezed tight. I was grateful to have something to hold on to and lean against, because I felt as if I might keel over.

"You're my...my...father." The words came out at last. Thranduil's arm slid around my shaking shoulders.

"He is the one?" he murmured, knowing the answer.

"He is the one."

My father stood up.

"Tell you what," he muttered. "I'm shutting up shop." He hurried away from us and locked the workshop door.

"Now sit down," he said to the three of us, "and tell me exactly what's going on here, because right now I'm thinking I've had too much to eat and drink over Christmas and this is a hallucination."

"I don't blame you for thinking that," I said, finding the seat nearest his. Thranduil clicked his fingers at Ruadan, indicating that he should finish making the tea, which he did with extremely bad grace. "I sometimes think the same thing."

"You speak the lingo," he noted. "I didn't think your lot understood English."

"I was brought up here, right in this town," I said. "I was found in the woods and adopted. I grew up on Baxter Street, then we moved to Avery Close after the estate was built."

"Stone me," he said, still staring at me. "Baxter Street, eh? I think I've seen you before, looking at you. Did you ever work at Rivendell Garden Centre?"

"Yes!" I said eagerly. "That's right."

"Thought so. They carry a line of our bird tables. I always thought how much you remind me of..." He stopped, shaking his head vigorously as if to knock foolish thoughts out of it. 

"My mother?" I whispered.

He nodded uncertainly. "Same hair and...stuff. But they told me you were dead."

"Who told you that?"

"Well, nobody told _me_. But your mother was told, by the king down there in the forest, that you'd been left somewhere nobody would ever find you."

"Somebody did find me, because the king made a stupid mistake – he gave me to my grandfather to abandon. So he abandoned me somewhere close to the path the dog walkers used, hoping I'd be noticed. And I was."

"Good God." I noticed his hands were shaking. "I'm sorry. I...this doesn't seem real. What's your name?"

"Katie. But the elves call me Catiel."

"Katie," he said, his eyes glistening. "And you've come to find your old dad, after all this time?"

"Please," I said, before the choking took over. "Please can I...?" I stood up and reached out to him.

He got up at once and drew me into his arms, where we cried and hugged and hugged and cried until Ruadan slammed the tea tray down on a gorgeous table made from a slab of oaken trunk.

He loosened his hold on me, looking over at Thranduil and Ruadan.

"So who are your friends?" he said.

"This is Thranduil," I said, waving a hand, "and Ruadan."

"Ruadan?" He stiffened and narrowed his eyes.

"Have you met before?"

"No. But I know the name."

"Listen, can I ask – where is my mother?"

My dad, still looking flintily at Ruadan, muttered, "Why have you brought him?"

"It's a long story," I said. "I want to tell you all about it, but first can I please know if my mother is still...if I can..."

"Oh yes, your mother's still on the scene," he said and I let out a shuddering exhalation, and some more tears. "No thanks to that one there. I want him out, Katie. Can you tell him to fuck off?"

His harsh tone surprised me and I stepped back, eyes widened.

"I'm not sure I can," I said. "We brought him here against his will. The idea is that he's supposed to actually meet some humans, to try and show him that they're not the monsters he thinks they are."

"He's got some nerve, calling us monsters." Dad had raised his voice and banged his fist on the table. "Sorry, sorry. I'm forgetting...I just can't get my head around this, love. I'm sorry if I'm all over the place."

"I'm the same," I said. "I never thought I'd find my birth parents. I never wanted to. I mean, what kind of people would do that? But I didn't realise... I'm so sorry for what you must have been through."

"Oh, love, don't be sorry for us. We've got what we never thought we'd have... Listen, I'm going to call her now. I'll shut up shop for the day and take you back home to see her. But your friends'll have to find somewhere else to go."

"I can't leave them," I said apologetically. "Besides, one of them's my husband."

"What?" He looked up from the phone he'd whipped out of his pocket. "Not Ruadan?"

"No. Not Ruadan. And honestly, let them come – Thranduil will keep an eye on Ruadan and make sure he's no trouble."

"Hmm, well, he doesn't look like he'd take any nonsense, I suppose," said dad, giving Thranduil some closer scrutiny. "How the hell are you married, girl? You can't be more than nineteen."

"That's another long story," I said.

"I'll bet. Mind you, my own's not exactly simple." He picked up his phone and went over to a corner to make a short, brisk call. He didn't mention me – just said he'd decided to shut up shop for the day and asked if there were any mince pies left.

"Right, then, help me collect in all the stuff outside, and we'll get into the van," he said. Thranduil and Ruadan gathered armfuls of garden ornaments and piled them inside the shed, then my dad led us over to his flat bed truck.

"Bit of a squeeze," he said, "and I've only got three seat belts, so we'll have to hope we don't get pulled over. But it's only a five minute run."

I perched between Thranduil's thighs, the safety belt barely straining over the pair of us, as we piled on to the single leather seat.

"I suppose he is taking us to Remula," Thranduil said into my ear as the engine juddered into life.

"Yes," I whispered back. I was so on edge I could barely breathe. Thranduil wrapped his arms around me from behind and held me tight, containing some of my shivers.

Thranduil's calm was offset by Ruadan's apparent panic at being belted into this highly non-elven mode of transport.

"It roars like a beast," he whimpered, trying to loosen the belt. "Yet it has no heart. How can it be? Let me put my feet back upon steady ground, I beg you."

"Control your fears," said Thranduil. "You will not be harmed."

"I cannot see her again," he said, changing tack once the vehicle had moved forward towards the main road. "You must keep me out of sight."

"Why?" I asked, turning to him. 

"She will remember me."

"What of it?" said Thranduil. 

Ruadan merely gazed miserably at his boots. It had begun to rain, precipitating a full thaw, and I was glad because it meant we weren't so visible through the windscreen.

My dad – I still hadn't asked his name, I realised – turned right into a residential area of semi-detached houses and bungalows, dotted with small parks and school playing fields. Eventually we arrived at a pleasant-looking 1930s semi with a gravel drive and a garden full of groovy wooden ornaments. It was not at all the kind of place you might expect an elf to live, even with all the wishing wells and sculptures and bird feeders.

If things had been different, I would have grown up here. And gone to our deadly rival school. I smiled through my twitching nerves to think of it.

"Nice place," I said.

"Yeah, well, we've done all right," said dad. "Welcome to Casa Hales."

"That's your name?" I said. "Hales?"

"That's right."

"Katie Hales," I said to myself, following him up the path. 

Ruadan made a last-ditch attempt to cower in the truck, but Thranduil hauled him out and marched him up the path after us.

"If there is shelter," said Thranduil to me, before we reached the front door, "I will remain in it with Ruadan. It is best you meet her alone at first."

"Oh, yes," I said, putting this to my dad, who indicated a side path which led to a greenhouse and the back garden. So Thranduil and Ruadan went to spend some time with the tomato plants.

He put the key in the lock and we entered a house that was quite unlike any traditional 1930s semi I'd ever been in. Like the elven kingdom in the forest, it was a treasure trove of wood and natural resources. All the walls that weren't load bearing had been knocked through to make a big, light, spacious interior where every room bled into the next, through curved archways.

"Wow," I said, looking around me. "This is beautiful."

"My wife...your mother...has an amazing creative talent," said my dad. "It's made us a lot of money over the years."

"I'll bet," I said. "This doesn't look cheap."

"But she can never take any credit for it," he continued sadly. "It's all listed as my work. Because she can't have publicity. She's scared to even leave the house."

"Oh no. Why?"

Dad reached out and tweaked the points of my ears.

"Imagine the fuss," he said.

I didn't have to imagine it. I knew.

"Rem," he called, raising his voice. "You about, love?"

"Just coming," I heard a woman's voice from the top of a stunning spiral staircase.

I looked up to see a tall, slender woman with a basket of dirty laundry flitting down the hazardous-looking spiral as if it was a slide. She was so beautiful that I didn't see any marks of age upon her until she was quite close, and then some fine laughter lines were just visible at her mouth and eyes. An elf who aged. She had chosen my dad over immortality.

She hadn't been looking at us as she descended, and her flute-like voice continued gaily all the way down the stairs.

"I know it's useless weather for laundry, but I've left it so long – you don't mind if we run the tumble dryer this afternoon, do you...oh!"

The basket fell, disgorging old socks and towels on to the polished floor.

"My God," she breathed, staring at me. "What have you brought here?"

My dad put a hand on her shoulder, his face grave.

"Rem," he said, his voice already breaking. "I've brought you our daughter."

I wondered how long we could all stand there goggling before one of us cracked. Whoever did, it wasn't going to be me. I'd lost the power of speech again. My mother was just utterly radiant. I couldn't believe this creature had given birth to little ol' me.

"Tom, no," she cried. "Don't tease me. It's not fair."

"I'm not..." he said, his voice cracking, chest beginning to heave. "Not teasing, Rem. It's our girl...our baby."

"But she was born without the ears," said Remula, her silvery eyes skittering as they regarded me. "It's not her. It's some other elf, come from my home...but why?"

"I grew the ears a three days ago," I said. "After marrying another elf. Something to do with the bonding... Please believe me, I grew up here. Listen – I'm speaking English. My adoptive parents are in the phone book. You can look them up, call them, ask them."

Remula sank down into a chair with a heart-shaped back, still staring.

"An English-speaking elf," she murmured. "Can it be true?"

"Half elf," I said. "Found as a baby, abandoned in a hollow tree trunk. Brought up and educated as a human. I had no idea I was half elf until I ran into another elf, who brought it out of me."

"By bonding," she repeated.

"And I know she's lived as a human," said my dad urgently, "because I've delivered stuff to her at Rivendell. She's on the level, love. And look at her face. She's like you, when I met you. Don't you see yourself in her mouth, and the shape of her face?"

"She might be a niece...or a cousin..." said Remula faintly, but I think she really wanted to believe it. 

"Love, I know you don't want to go through all that pain again," said dad, sitting beside her taking her hand in his. "God knows, I know how hard it was. Not a day goes past that I don't think about her and wonder what she'd be if only she'd..."

He choked up again.

Remula nodded, her eyes spilling over.

"I couldn't bear it, Tom," she whispered. "I couldn't bear to have that hope taken away."

And then I thought of the bond, and the way it made Thranduil mine and me his. Could it work also for parents and children?

I went to her and crouched in front of her, putting my hand on top of theirs.

_Please accept me_ , I thought, trying my hardest to send her the thought. _I have missed you so much._

She bent to me and flung her arms around me, crying in earnest now.

_And I you, my daughter, so much more than you can ever know._

Her hand in mine was so warm and so unquestionably my mother's. She had felt it too.

The three of us clung together in a kind of awkward half-crouching hug, shaking and weeping until I knew my legs could take no more and I dropped down to the floor.

"What did they call you?" she asked, while dad went off to boil the kettle yet again. Hopefully this might be my chance to actually have a cup of tea at the third attempt.

"Katie," I said. I sat down on the chair dad had vacated and gazed at her. "My God," I said. "I can't believe I've found you."

"I can't believe...oh, Katie. Have you lived all this time thinking I wanted to get rid of you...?" She started crying again.

"I knew I was found abandoned in the woods. I didn't know anything about the circumstances, of course, so I never thought I'd be able to trace you."

"So...how did you?"

"When I found out I was an elf, I went to look for you in the woods. I ended up in your old home and I found out from the crafters what had happened. I've met Alorath."

"My father! How is he? Is he well?"

"He is very well. I didn't get to meet my grandmother, but he mentioned her, so she's obviously fine too. And when they told me your story, well – I had to come and find you here."

"And was that so easy?" She laughed through her tears.

"I knew I had to find a genius woodcrafter. And, looking around me, I think I've come to the right place."

"Thank you. Do you work wood yourself?"

I laughed back at her.

"I'm afraid that's one thing I haven't inherited. But I certainly hope I inherit your skin. Wow."

She took my hand and held it to her cheek so I could feel its softness.

"It's starting to wrinkle," she said. "When I married Tom, I chose mortality. At first, it was a terrifying decision to make, but now I am happy with it. If he goes, I will go with him."

"For me, it's the other way around," I said, wonderingly. "I grew up knowing I would die one day, but now..."

"You spoke of a marriage, to an elf. And a recent one," she remembered. "So you are now immortal."

"So I'm told."

"And your children will be too, for they will be three-quarters elven."

The mention of children made my stomach feel as if a fish was swimming through it. I kept forgetting that possibility. I put my hand there, trying to steady it.

"Perhaps I will be a grandmother before long," she exclaimed, then she turned away. "Oh, it's too much," she said. "It's far too much to take in."

"I know how you must feel," I said. "These last three days have turned my life absolutely upside-down. So much to try and understand and fit in to my old ideas about myself and my world. Not to mention falling in love and getting married and all that. I'm not sure how I'm still standing, to be honest."

She looked back at me, her eyes now tearless and glittering.

"And where is your husband now?" she asked.

"He's, er, he's in your greenhouse," I said.

She was still laughing when Tom came in with the tea tray.

"What about those two out there?" he asked me. "Will they be wanting a cup of tea?"

"Oh, bring him in, please," cried Remula. "I must meet my new son-in-law."

"I'd love you to," I said, but Tom's frown tempered my enthusiasm.

"What about the one he's with?" he said in a low voice. "I'm not having him in this house."

"What do you mean?" asked Remula. "Who is he with?"

"Ruadan," said Tom.

Remula clapped a hand over her mouth, the glow fading from her skin as it turned clammy white.

"Oh, no," she said. "No. You cannot mean it."


	25. Elf Awareness

"He didn't want to see you," I said, remembering Ruadan's earlier forebodings. "He said you'd remember him."

Remula cried out in anguish. "As if I could ever forget! Everything that happened to me was his fault."

"Wasn't it Vinwil that banished you, though?" I said.

"Vinwil does nothing without that little rat's say-so," said Remula hotly, and it certainly tallied with what Eludin had told me. "Had it not been for Ruadan, I could have stayed in the forest. Or I could have lived here with Tom and you, and visited my parents whenever we wished. But Ruadan's vindictiveness knew no bounds, and he would not rest until Vinwil had ordered me banished and my child killed."

"Why was he so against you?" I asked, my voice hushed with horror.

"Because I refused him," she said, glancing at Tom, who looked as if he might be sick at any moment. "He was the one who found out about my excursions into the human world. He waited in the forest one night, to catch me on my return. He said that if I gave myself to him, he would not tell Vinwil what I had been doing."

"Ugh, what a creep. But wouldn't that have meant you were married to him?"

"Yes. Apparently he had had his eye on me since we were both elflings. But I was a crafter and he had loftier ambitions, so we grew apart from each other. All the same, he had not found an elleth to suit him among the noble bloods, so his attention fell once more upon me. I rebuffed him time and again – but that time in the forest, he thought he had me."

"But you said no."

"Of course I said no. I have no love for him – not even the admiration of friendship. I had seen him toady his way into Vinwil's affections, and it turned my stomach."

"And then he told Vinwil?"

"He told Vinwil. And Vinwil held my work in such high esteem that he would have let me off with a reprimand. But it was not revenge enough for Ruadan. He had to see me destroyed."

"So if it weren't for him...we could have...?"

"Been together," said Remula, with a grave nod.

"Oh my God," I gasped. "Let me at him!"

Before they could stop me, I raced out through the kitchen door to the greenhouse, hammering on the glass panes as I ran.

Thranduil, his brows lowered, opened the door, allowing me to launch myself at Ruadan with a vow to kill him.

But before I could land my fists on his throat, Thranduil yanked me back and held my wrists in such a powerful grip I couldn't possibly escape it.

"Catiel, no," he said, gaining mastery over my writhing, flailing body so that I had to stop writhing and flailing. "No. This is not the behaviour of a queen."

"Oh?" I panted, my chest and everything around it heaving madly. "But is it the behaviour of a queen who's just found out that that evil bastard over there is responsible for breaking her family apart? And for having her left for dead?"

"Catiel," he said, his voice measured and deliberate. "Nothing can be done about that until you calm yourself. I will not have violence, elf against elf. Especially not from you. If justice needs to be done, it will be done – you may trust me on that."

I hated how small and helpless he made me feel sometimes. I stopped even trying to writhe and flail and stood, punctured and deflated, in his grip.

"But you don't understand," I whined.

"Then explain," he said, but before I could, Tom and Remula pitched up in the sodden garden.

Tom inserted himself into the open doorway and glared at Ruadan. I thought he might actually do that low throaty growl you hear when a dog is sizing up another dog before a fight.

"Thanks, mate," he said to Thranduil. "I wanted to be the first to have a go at him."

"Tom, please don't," cried Remula. "He isn't worth it. Let's lock him in here and leave him alone. I want to forget he exists, and I can't do that if you hurt him."

"He took our kid and left her to die," bellowed Tom. "How can you ask me to leave it?"

"No," cried Remula passionately. "Let's celebrate her being alive – don't ruin our joy like this. Just cut him out of it. Lock him out of our lives. He deserves no more."

I translated this scene for Thranduil at his request, and he expressed his sympathies with Remula's views.

"Tell him I agree with his wife," he said to me. "Tell him that if he attacks Ruadan, I will be forced to defend my fellow elf."

"Dad," I said, stepping between him and Ruadan. "Please. Do as she...as mum...says. Thranduil can't let you attack another elf. He'll have to fight you."

"What?" roared dad, turning to Thranduil. "This is your wife we're talking about here. She's only alive through blind luck. And you want to take his side against us?"

"No, it's not like that," I assured him. "Thranduil is on our side. It's just he can't allow attacks on other elves. It's kind of like his royal duty or something."

Thranduil stood beside me, towering over dad by a good half a foot. He gave him a courteous little bow and extended his hand.

"Tell your father," he said, "that I am honoured to meet him and to be a guest in his house, but if he does not stand down, I will have to initiate hand to hand combat."

"Oh, Thranduil, you wouldn't!"

"Do you know me to be a maker of false threats, Catiel?"

No. Come to think of it, I didn't.

"Dad," I said. "Thranduil says he's gasping for a cup of tea."

Remula put her hand on dad's arm.

"Please, Tom," she said gently.

The bullishness departed from his stance and his shoulders sagged.

"All right, love," he sighed. "We'll lock him in then. But if he puts one foot out of line..."

"Yes, yes," said Remula, and then she spoke in Elvish to Ruadan. "Stay here and think about what you have done."

"Stay here?" said Ruadan. "But I'm cold and hungry."

"Do as she says," said Thranduil forbiddingly.

He looked as if he wanted to whinge a bit more, but we were all out of there and the key had been turned in the lock before he could start. We ran over the lawn in the pelting rain and took shelter in the warm kitchen, standing and shedding droplets on to the floor tiles while we all looked at each other, nobody wanting to be the first to speak.

I decided to fill the void.

"So this is my husband," I said. "Thranduil. He doesn't speak English, by the way. Remula...mum...do you remember much Elvish?"

"Oh yes," she said. "You never forget your mother tongue." She bowed to Thranduil and spoke in Elvish to him. "I am pleased to meet you, Thranduil. Are you named for the legendary king of that name?"

I coughed, and he head-tilted back at her with a beatific smile.

"No, I am not," he said. "I was named by my father, Oropher, the first of the woodland kings."

Remula's jaw dropped and dad, feeling a little excluded from the Elvish chat, muttered something about putting the fire on in the living room and left.

"You mean," said my mother, "you are...actually...him?"

"Quite so."

She could only look between the two of us, as if trying to work out how on earth this could be.

Eventually, she gave up and suggested we join dad in the living room for tea and biscuits. He was sitting in an armchair looking vaguely at a rolling news channel on TV with the sound turned down.

"I never learned Elvish," said dad apologetically, as we settled ourselves around the fire. "Apart from a few bits and pieces. Never seemed to be much point, since we weren't going to be spending any time with other elves."

"It's OK," I said.

"So, when did you find out about it?" he asked. "You seem pretty fluent."

"Ah, well, that's because I taught myself Elvish before I knew I was an elf," I explained, a little sheepishly. "Just out of interest."

"How strange," said Remula, smiling warmly. "Something deep inside you must have known all along."

"Maybe," I said. "I just wish it had bothered to tell the outside bits of me."

"But, whichever language we speak in, one of us is going to be left out," she said with a sigh. "Tom, would you mind if we spoke Elvish and I translate for you? It feels so rude to be speaking in front of a king in a language he does not understand."

"I wouldn't know much about kings," said dad, with a gruff laugh. "Don't have experience of them myself. But you carry on. I'll pick up some meaning here and there, I expect."

"Thanks, darling," she said, then she leant closer to me and Thranduil, scrutinising us. 

"Do I look the way you imagined?" I asked nervously, in Elvish.

"I never dared to imagine you," she replied. "I scarcely even dared to think of you. You cannot conceive of the agony I endured after they took you from me."

"No," I agreed. "I never had that sense of loss, because I grew up in a family that loved and cared for me. I had only a kind of sense that some vital part of me was missing. It didn't hurt, though. It just felt a bit strange."

"I wish I had known," she said. "I would have moved heaven and earth to find you."

"I don't know about heaven and earth," I said. "You only needed to pop into the garden centre. I can't believe my own father was the man who brought the bird tables. And my own mother made them. It's just...crazy."

"I cannot dwell upon it," said my mother. "It will break my heart all over again." She snapped a rich tea biscuit in two, as if in illustration.

"So you are Remula," said Thranduil, "the master crafter of Vinwil's realm. I have heard much about you."

"From Vinwil?" she asked, looking wary.

"No. From your fellows in the workshops. They held you in such high regard that your disgrace precipitated a riot, I am told."

"Yes, there was much unrest. It did me no good, in the end."

"But now, perhaps it might," said Thranduil.

"What do you mean?"

"Since your departure, Vinwil has slowly ground his crafters into poverty. They are poorly paid and their domain is neglected."

"I am sorry to hear that," she said. "I wish there was some way I could help them."

"Is there not?" asked Thranduil, apparently lightly, but with definite steel behind.

"Of course not. I am banished. The king will never accept me back."

"The king may find that he has no choice in the matter."

"What do you mean?" I was asking this time. 

"I mean, my love, that if events passed as we hoped, and Vinwil gave in to the crafters' demands without bloodshed, he will be desirous of the restoration of his closest confidant."

"Ruadan. What's he got to do with it?"

"We bargain with Vinwil. Ruadan can go back to him, as long as he agrees that Remula can enter the kingdom freely."

Remula and I stared at each other, then at Thranduil.

"What if I don't want to go back?" said Remula.

"You do, of course," said Thranduil, as if any other opinion was mere madness.

There was a long and loaded silence. Remula sought refuge in her teacup before emerging to reply, in a low and slightly tremulous voice.

"Obviously I would like to see my family again," she said. "What elf would not? But after all that has passed..."

"Your kin and your colleagues are not to blame for any of that," pointed out Thranduil. "And they need you now. They have missed you sorely for twenty years."

"And in those twenty years," she said, more stridently now, "I have made a life for myself here. We are happy, Tom and I, and our workshop earns us enough to live well and comfortably. We are looking forward to spending the rest of our lives together."

"It's not a full life, though, is it?" I said, not sure why I was arguing Thranduil's case for him – in my view, Remula should be allowed to make her own decision. But there it was. I seemed to have this compulsion to stick up for his side of things. "Dad said you barely leave the house. You go from here to the workshop and that's that. It's like a kind of house arrest. Don't you want more freedom?"

She looked down into her lap, her face grave.

"You don't understand," she said, so quietly I almost didn't catch it. "I have no wish to leave these four walls. I no longer have the stomach for freedom."

"You're depressed," I said. "You've been depressed for twenty years. And I don't blame you either. But you deserve more."

She fixed her eyes on mine. "So you think as he does? That I should return?"

"Remula...mum..." I said, the sound of the word on my lips giving me an unexpected jolt of emotion that nearly broke my speech. "I know what it's like to spend my whole life wondering about people I never expect to see. It's hard and painful and can drive you half mad. You know that, and I know that. And so does Alorath and..." I realised I didn't know my grandmother's own name. "His wife," I ended, a bit lamely.

But my point had hit its mark.

She put a hand up to her face.

"They have not deserved any of this either," she said. "And I have missed them...missed them so..."

"Then go back to visit them," I whispered. "Let them see that you are alive and well and happy, and that you love them still."

She nodded, then looked at Thranduil with a definite flame of anger.

"But Ruadan," she said. "How could you bring him here?"

Thranduil, of course, did not know the full back story, so I quickly filled him in.

"I was not aware of this," he said. "Had I known, then perhaps...no, I would still have brought him. He may be more precious to Vinwil than his own wife and child. If he continues to poison the king's mind with his hatred and fear, the kingdom can never prosper."

"I have to say, though," I butted in, "his experiences so far aren't really very likely to change his attitude. He's been kitted out like a hobo, ambushed in a department store and locked in a greenhouse in the pouring rain. It wouldn't impress me much."

Thranduil frowned. "Yes. I was hoping for better."

"He liked the digital camera, though," I offered. "Perhaps if we could tempt him with a few more human innovations..."

Remula smiled. "Such as jaffa cakes?" she said, offering me one. "I suspect it would take much more to shift such entrenched prejudice."

"Oh, I don't know," I said, biting into one. "Jaffa cakes have a lot going for them."

"So," said Remula. "How did you two meet?"

Thranduil held his jaffa cake up to the light, as if suspecting it of hiding something unpleasant.

"That's a very long story," I said.

"Are you coming back to the elven kingdom?" he asked. "Or must we tell your parents that you do not wish to see them?"

"Oh, that's not fair!" exclaimed Remula.

Before the exchange could turn into an argument, as seemed likely, dad made an urgent noise through a mouthful of rich tea and pointed at the TV screen, which was still tuned to the rolling news channel.

Grainy CCTV footage of the confrontation in the department store was being played, followed by different footage of us tearing through the station car park.

"Oh shit," I said, unable to swallow my mouthful of jaffa cake.

Even worse, the next reel was of us passing the cash and carry in the industrial estate. They knew exactly where we'd been. And any minute now, they could be...

"We have to leave," said Thranduil, standing at once.

" _You_ have to leave," Remula corrected him.

"You mean you'd just let me walk right out of your life again?" I cried. "Really?" 

Her face creased up and she shook her head.

"No," she said. "I can't...but I don't know how..."

"Dad," I said in English, grabbing his hand. "We have to go. Now. Can you drive us to the allotments on the Kennford road?"

"Sure," he said. "What's going on? Why are the police after you?"

"They think Thranduil's some kind of knife-wielding maniac," I said briefly, dashing into the kitchen. "Where's the key to the greenhouse?"

"Well, looking at that footage, they've kind of got a point," muttered dad, following me. "On the hook by the back door. Do we have to bring him with us?"

"We can't leave him here."

I plunged out into the rain, unlocked the greenhouse and liberated a very ill-tempered and shivering Ruadan.

We all ran out to the front and piled into the van. Mum and I had to curl ourselves up in the footwell. Absolute road safety nightmare, but there was nothing else to be done.

"So – the allotments," said dad, turning the key in the ignition. "And then what?"

"I wish I knew," I said, leaning back against Thranduil's booted legs. "I really do."


	26. A Sense of Elf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I can see the beginning of the end... Many thanks to all who have stuck with me on this strange voyage. Quick note to the reader who asked about Thranduil learning English - yes, he taught himself a few phrases but I don't think at this stage he'd be able to follow a fast-paced conversational exchange between fluent speakers. Unless elves have amazing linguistic skills too - which perhaps they do...

The allotments were slimy with wet mud and thawing ice and we picked a slippery path to grandad's shed. Luckily the post-Christmas bad-weather lull was still in force, and there was nobody around to watch a quartet of elves and a human negotiating the dirt tracks.

As grandad's shed hove into view, I found myself wondering if our unexpected guest was still in residence. Luke...oh God...Luke Hales! Could he be some relation?

I didn't have time to ask dad before we were upon the rickety old place. Opening the door, the whiff of stale booze hit me in the face, and I saw a bundle of blankets in the corner heave slowly into life.

"What is it? Oh...it's you again. I want my fleece back. It's freezing in here..."

His moaning tailed off as he saw the party entering behind me.

"...Uncle Tom," he said. 

"It can't be...Luke?" said dad, apparently unconvinced. "I thought you and your mum were up in Manchester."

"Yeah, we were. But things went a bit wrong. Thought I'd try and make a fresh start in the old place."

"This is your fresh start? Kipping in a shed? Does your mum know you're here? Does your dad?"

"I had a row with mum. I haven't got round to calling on dad yet. Too much history, you know?"

"Well, I can understand that..." Dad broke off and explained to me. "Katie, sorry, this is your cousin Luke. I haven't seen him since him and his mum – my brother's ex-wife – took off to Manchester when he was a kid."

"Tell her why," said Luke sulkily. "And what's this about a cousin? She ain't no relative of mine."

Tom sighed. "The reason they left was because my brother treated them badly. You won't hear me deny it, Luke. I know what he's like and I don't blame your mum for taking you away out of it. I just wish she could have come to us so we could have helped her."

"She didn't like that freak wife of yours," said Luke, his face ugly with old resentment.

"Who the hell are you calling a freak?" I shouted.

"Katie, it's all right," said my mother behind me. "I've been called far worse, by more frightening people." She gave Ruadan a hard look. "Luke, whatever you think of me, you must also think of your cousin. I don't suppose your mother ever told you the truth about me. I know she wouldn't let you visit. I'm very glad to meet you, for the first time."

The light was poor in the shed, but something had dawned on Luke.

"You're one of that lot, that's why," he said, looking closely at her ears. "Like that ninja dude with the sword."

"Your mother didn't tell you?"

"No, she said you were some kind of pervert weirdo. She never told me you were an elf."

"I don't think she really believed it," said dad. "My brother struggled to accept it as well."

"What is going on here?" said Ruadan testily. "Why are we all standing in this hovel talking to this low-life?"

"He is my cousin," I said sharply in Elvish. "But yes, we should move on to discussing our next step. We can't hide out here for long."

"Our next step is clear enough," said Thranduil. "We return to Vinwil's kingdom and restore Remula to her people. As a consequence of that, Vinwil will relax his attitude towards humans and a new epoch in the history of the realm will begin."

"You make it sound so easy," I said, and Remula laughed bitterly.

"What about my husband?" she demanded. "Do you think I want to expose him to such clear potential danger? No human will be permitted to enter the kingdom."

"Do not forget our bargaining tool," said Thranduil, clapping Ruadan on the shoulder.

"You will fail," said Ruadan meanly. "Vinwil is not so weak as you think."

"He might be the strongest king of all time," said Thranduil. "He still cannot stand against the overwhelming opposition of his subjects."

"I'm worried, though," I said. "What if it doesn't turn out the way we hope? What if something awful happens to Remula? What if something awful has already happened to the crafters, or Eludin?"

"If it has, we will not help them by leaving them be," said Thranduil gravely. "This is an opportunity to make a better life for a great many elves. If we do not take it, then we are at fault."

"And Saruman might not recall you yet," I said, slightly bitchily.

He looked angry for a moment, then shrugged, as if to say there was no point in denying it.

"Saruman sent you here?" said Remula, taking a sharp breath in. "But do you not know..."

"No, mother, don't tell him!" I said. "He is not to be told anything about the future, or he can never go back to the past."

She was thunderstruck. "You came here from...the past? How is that possible?"

"It is wizardry," said Thranduil briefly. "But there will be time enough for explanations when our immediate crisis is past. We should go now to parley with Vinwil."

"I still fear for my husband," insisted Remula. 

"Then he need not come in with us," said Thranduil. "Let him stay safely in the forest until we know that he can enter safely."

Remula explained all this in English to my dad, who made a variety of facial expressions, from disbelief to anger to rebuttal and all kinds in between.

"Remula," he said. "Do you really think I'll let you walk into that place while I kick back here? I don't understand why you want to go back there in the first place. Isn't the life we have good enough for you any more?"

"My parents," she said pleadingly. "My people."

He bowed his head at that, defeated.

"All right. I understand. But I'm coming with you."

"Can I come too?" asked Luke eagerly. 

Dad shook his head. "I don't think so, mate. But look – take these. Head back to our place and get yourself some food and a decent bit of shut-eye. This is no place to live." He threw his house keys to Luke, who looked at them as though they were rare and precious diamonds.

"Oh my God, thanks, Uncle Tom!" he exclaimed. "Nice one. You won't regret it, I promise."

"Yeah, well, if the police show up, you don't know anything, all right? You haven't seen us and you don't know where we are. You just know that we asked you to house-sit while we took a Christmas holiday. Right?"

"Right you are," said Luke.

"Are we to stand in this freezing hovel all day?" complained Ruadan, expressing what Thranduil appeared to be thinking.

"I think we should leave now," he said, running a hand uneasily over his hip. "I regret the lack of a sword. If fortune smiles upon is, I should not need it."

We stopped in the forest all the same, to whittle sticks into perfectly sharp weapons. Remula, indeed, could not stop herself from turning them into works of art with filigree handles and all kinds of curly bits, until Thranduil advised her, rather tersely, that time was of the essence.

"Do you think it's going to be dangerous?" asked Dad nervously of Thranduil. "I don't want Rem walking right into a fight."

"Bringing her back to the kingdom might be seen as an act of provocation," said Thranduil. "But only by the king, whose voice should have been diluted by that of his people – even his queen – by now."

"Should have been," quoted Dad unenthusiastically. "I like a bit more certainty when my wife's life is at stake, personally."

"I recognise your misgivings," said Thranduil, settling his gaze on me. "But I give you my assurance that all that can be done to protect her, will be done."

There was a sudden scream and Ruadan tumbled hard on to the forest floor. To our horror, we saw that his leg had been caught in a kind of man trap made of wood, with jagged splintery teeth that sank into his skin.

"What the...? Don't panic, mate. I can sort this out." Dad's words of reassurance obviously fell on deaf ears, and Ruadan continued to whimper and wail.

"What has befallen him?" asked a horrified Remula, hastening to her husband's side.

I exchanged an uneasy glance with Thranduil.

"Has somebody been setting traps for us?" I speculated.

"It is not a new device," replied Remula, helping Dad to pull out the wooden spikes from Ruadan's ankle with tender care. "I believe it has been here for some time. It is swollen with long exposure to the damp."

"They were set out here on Vinwil's orders," said Ruadan miserably, gasping with pain in between words. "To prevent elves venturing too far towards the human settlement."

"Poetic justice, then," I said. "I don't suppose you had anything to do with it, did you?"

He simply added a sheepish layer to his look of agony.

"This is where a woodworker comes in handy," said Dad briskly, removing the last of the spikes and reaching into the backpack he'd brought with him. "The first aid kit goes everywhere." He took out a padded zipped bag with a cross on it.

"Awesome!" I said, clapping my hands.

He looked properly dad-like for the first time since we'd met, acknowledging my praise with a wink and a flush of pride.

"I can perform a healing spell, if necessary," said Thranduil, stepping closer to the suffering Ruadan.

"My husband can take care of it," said Remula. "The wounds are only superficial. Conserve your energies – who knows what challenges lie ahead."

Thranduil nodded in accord, stepping back again, apparently slightly offended to be so close to the pathetic specimen of elfhood who lay whingeing on the muddy leaves.

Dad got down to cleaning and staunching the wounds, then applying antiseptic cream, before bandaging the area and helping Ruadan to unsteady feet.

"Lean on me, then," he said gruffly. "Never thought I'd be doing _you_ a favour."

"Those monstrous humans," I said, raising my eyebrows at Ruadan. He had the grace to look down at his feet. 

"You could have performed a healing spell," he muttered sulkily at Thranduil. "It is not fitting to leave me to the mercy of humans."

"If that is your idea of gratitude, perhaps the trap was not lesson enough for you," said Thranduil sharply, swishing his pointy stick in a menacing manner.

Ruadan cowered and clung more tightly to dad, limping along after us.

"It's just pride," I said quietly to Thranduil. "Years of prejudice can't be overcome in a minute."

"I know that," he replied. "But is there any harm in helping the process along?"

We had to be extra vigilant on the rest of the journey, testing every bundle of soggy leaves with our toes to make sure no trap lurked beneath, so it took quite a long time to arrive at the underground realm.

On the way, I asked my parents about their meeting and how they had bonded straight away over their love of woodcraft, even though neither spoke the other's language. Defying everybody on both sides of the species fence, they had determined to stay together. But what a price they had paid for it. Their child taken away and left for dead. 

When Remula spoke in Elvish for the benefit of Thranduil, it was obvious that Ruadan was becoming more and more uncomfortable with his part in the tale.

"You never married, Ruadan?" she asked, taking notice of him after a long spell of ignoring his little whimpers and moans.

"Who could I marry?" he said, after an incredulous silence. "You know there was only one elleth for me."

"What nonsense," she said briskly. "The realm is full of potential brides. You have devoted your life to political advancement. Vinwil is your bride."

I laughed, but Ruadan didn't seem to find it very funny.

At last the entrance to the realm appeared before us. I caught my breath, and took a hold of Thranduil's sleeve, suddenly struck with dread at what we might find. What if everything had gone terribly wrong, and my grandparents, along with Eludin, lay slain within?

"The time to do what I was sent here for has come," he said softly.

"You think you were sent here for this?" I asked nervously. "You think Saruman had it in mind?"

"Who can guess at Saruman's motives? But I do not think I can go back until I have made some material difference to the future of these elves. There can be no turning back now that we have come this far."

He was right. This kingdom's upheaval was our doing and our responsibility. There was no way we could just let Ruadan walk back in and wave goodbye at the door.

Mum and dad embraced, and then I went to give dad a hug of my own.

"Before long, I hope they'll be welcoming you just like this," I whispered to him. "We'll do our best."

"Make sure nobody hurts your mother," he said. "And make sure you keep safe. I can't lose you now."

_You won't have to_. It was on the tip of my tongue. But I knew, before the words could spill out, that it was a lie. I would go where Thranduil went, and that was likely to be somewhere my parents could never follow us.

The thought was bitterly sad, and made me forget my fears, marching alongside Thranduil into the underground depths.

The guards who greeted us looked extremely surprised. They bowed as formally as ever, but I could them eyeing each other in astonishment.

"You are the King's guard?" Thranduil addressed them.

"Yes, my lord."

"Then the King still reigns?"

"Of course."

Ruadan sighed loudly.

"And his wife was safely delivered from the crafters?"

"Yes, Queen Eludin is quite safe. His Majesty will be very interested to see you, my lord."

"I imagine so," said Thranduil dryly. "Before you take us to him, might I ask whether the crafters were ultimately successful in securing a higher wage?"

"Yes, my lord. The king accepted their demands."

Thranduil smiled and bowed his head.

"Then will one of you escort us to your king?"

My heart was lighter as we followed the guard along the many corridors. The plan had worked – Eludin's captivity had forced the king to see reason and to accede to the crafters' requests. This gave me hope for the other part of our plan.

I turned to my mother.

"Is it as you recall?"

She was gazing at our surroundings in wonder, her eyes glistening.

"Twenty years," she breathed. "It is absolutely the same as it ever was. Oh, Katie. Oh."

The guard halted at the entrance to a chamber.

Thranduil held out his hand, rather to everyone's curiosity.

"Before we enter," he said, "I would have your sword."

"My lord!" Consternation overcame the guard, whose hand clutched at his scabbard for protection.

"I will return it, I promise you."

"A king's guard is never to hand over his weapon, my lord."

Thranduil said no more, but fixed him with such a powerful glare that the guard eventually, and with much hesitation, withdrew the sword and placed it in my husband's grasp.

"He's a very difficult man to say no to," I said to my impressed mother.

"So I see," she replied. "I hope you stand up for yourself, daughter."

"Oh, I do. Don't worry about that."

The guard announced us, keeping his sword belt out of view, and we strode four-square into the throne room.

Vinwil and Eludin both rose from their seats, their faces transfigured with surprise, elation, anxiety and all kinds of other emotions I couldn't quite identify.

"Ruadan!" was the first word spoken by Vinwil, whilst Eludin breathed, "Oh, you have come back to us."

"Your grace," said Thranduil, head tilting in all directions. "We bring you your adviser, Ruadan, who has joined us in a quest."

"Where did you take him? Why? What is this about?" Vinwil's face darkened to a beetroot flush. He didn't look best pleased, although Eludin was beaming encouragement down upon us.

Thranduil's reply was oblique. "I wonder, my lord, if you recognise this elleth?"

He motioned Remula to step forwards. She did so, holding her head up and looking Vinwil straight in the eye.

"It cannot be..." gasped Vinwil.

"Remula!" cried Eludin. "Oh, how good it is to see you."

"Silence," snapped Vinwil at his wife. "First you get yourself kidnapped, then you undermine my ruling. I will not have it. Stand beside me or leave. The choice is yours."

I knew which option I'd have gone for, but Eludin merely looked away, as if her face had been slapped.

"Remula, the crafter you banished, and whose child you ordered abandoned, stands before you," said Thranduil. "She does not beg your forgiveness, but you should most assuredly beg hers. And mine."

Vinwil looked from mum to Thranduil.

"And yours?" he faltered.

"And mine. It was my wife you had abandoned and left for dead, Vinwil, and I think ill indeed of you for it."

Vinwil paled.

"Then it is...she is Remula's daughter? You have proof of this?"

"The child was found and brought up by humans," said Thranduil. "She lived among them, ignorant of her heritage. It was only at our meeting that her origins became clearer and she came here to seek her kin."

"Then all your talk of a treaty...?"

Thranduil shrugged. "A fiction," he admitted. "I have no desire or need to seek treaty with you, Vinwil. What I have seen of you has not impressed me. But now...now you have the opportunity to change that."


	27. Elf Respect

I honestly thought that Vinwil was about to plunge down from his throne, sword drawn, and pierce Thranduil through the heart. Without thinking, I stepped in front of him, but Thranduil nudged me aside, keeping his hand on my shoulder in grateful acknowledgement of my gesture.

Instead, Vinwil uttered a wobbly, "How DARE you?", then looked desperately to Ruadan for back-up.

But Ruadan had nothing to say.

"You are hurt," said Vinwil, noticing the bandage. "Did those ruffianly humans attack you?"

Ruadan shook his head, a perfect picture of discomfiture.

"On the contrary," I said. "My father – my _human_ father – rescued him from one of your man traps and dressed the wound. Hardly ruffianly."

"The traps!" said Eludin. "I always said we should not have set them."

"I have warned you..." exploded Vinwil, and it really seemed that he might strike her.

But she stood up, calmly and gracefully, and descended the stairs towards us.

"Vinwil, I have taken enough. I will stand with these people, until you see sense."

"Then you will never see your son again," raged Vinwil. "Make sure of that."

Her face went slightly green and I thought her knees might give way. I reached out for her quickly, holding her up by a shaking arm.

"He's bluffing," I whispered, as Thranduil spoke up again.

"Was not one brutal separation of parent and child sufficient for you, Vinwil? Would you subject your own son to such unhappiness? Then surely he will turn against you."

"Oh, you think so, do you?"

"I know it," said Thranduil, more quietly this time. "For in banishing somebody my own son loved, I have lost him."

The thundercloud on Vinwil's face dispersed a little, replaced by open curiosity.

"Legolas? Really?"

Thranduil bowed his head for a moment's silence, before continuing.

"Understand, therefore, that reason must triumph over your blind prejudice and hatred," he said in his former, more majestic, tones. "The path you have taken cannot be sustained without grievous damage to your realm."

"I...I need advice," he said, with an imploring look at Ruadan. "I cannot..."

"Your adviser remains with us, for as long as Remula is still banished," said Thranduil. "You have only to reverse, by statute, your decree that all who commune with humans must be cast out, and then you may have him back."

"What am I to do?" he said, somewhat pathetically. "Ruadan? What should I do?"

"My lord," said Ruadan, looking first at Thranduil for permission to speak, which was granted with a nod. "I think you should do as he says."

"What? He has you so cowed?"

"He speaks...he is right. Remula is not our enemy."

Vinwil's jaw dropped. "To hear this from you...I never thought the day would dawn."

"I have seen humans. They have scientific advancement that we could use. And some of them are...not monsters."

Vinwil continued to stare as if turned to stone.

"Furthermore," continued Ruadan, "we do not want civil war. We could not win it. Even your own queen turns towards this new and progressive strategy. Your queen is a good and principled elleth. In the past, I have disliked her for it, but now perhaps it is time to change."

"Ruadan...do you mean this?"

Hmm, I had to wonder. Was he saying all this to save his skin, or because he'd had a Damascene moment? Either way, perhaps it didn't matter. Getting Vinwil to sign the decree was what mattered, and this was grist to our mill.

"If you do not accept the new ways, then your son will," said Ruadan. "You are clinging to a dying ideology. Let Remula come and go as she pleases. We do not have to invite her to our banquets."

"I wouldn't come anyway," muttered Remula, and I suppressed a grin.

"Please, my lord," said Eludin gently. "For the sake of your kingdom."

He stamped his foot like an angry two year old and hid his face in his hands.

"Oh...well...she is one elleth. What damage can she do? All right. I'll make the decree. Now hand over Ruadan."

"When all is signed and made public," said Thranduil, interposing himself between king and adviser. "You must call an extraordinary gathering of your high council, and you must do it now."

"I wonder who you think you're talking to," grumbled Vinwil, but he sent his messenger to call his counsellors all the same.

The meeting was very long and very heated, and we sat through it all with drooping eyelids and rumbling stomachs, but at last, three hours later, the decree was signed and the king had messengers sent to every corner of the realm to announce it to the people.

Ruadan and Vinwil had an emotional reunion – rather more emotional than the king's reunion with his own queen, I suspected – and we all decided to take our leave and head for the crafters' quarters, as a celebration feast to welcome Remula back was clearly not about to be called.

Back down in the gloom of the deepest depths of the kingdom, things were looking rather cheerier. There were lots of ribbons everywhere, and the evidence of a party. In the workshop, various empty barrels dripped their last remnants on to the floor, and one elf still lay asleep under a crafting table. 

The one thing missing from the scene was anybody awake and working.

"I think they must all be sleeping it off," remarked Remula, with a nervous laugh. "Crafters always knew how to throw a good party."

"Where does Alorath live?" I asked.

"It's not far. This way," she said, taking us down a hollowed out tunnel lit fitfully by flares on the walls.

The tunnel was claustrophobic and the ceiling lowered the further we walked. In the end, Thranduil was bent almost double by the time we reached the little door, decorated with rosettes and what looked a bit like party popper streamers, near the end of the road.

Remula raised her hand to knock, but she wavered, her fist in mid-air, her eyes suddenly haunted.

"What if..." she muttered. "What if they are not as I remember? What if they do not remember me?"

"They will," I encouraged her. "They have never forgotten you. Besides, elves. Twenty years is the blink of an eye, right?"

She smiled and grabbed at my hand, clasping our fingers together, then knocked with our joined knuckles.

It was some time before the door was answered – presumably they were resting after the rigours of the celebration – but eventually a luminously beautiful woman answered. It took me a moment to realise that this must be my grandmother – she looked about my age.

She stood, unblinking and white-faced, in the doorway, then she said, "Oh," in a very faint voice.

Remula, still holding my hand, rushed forward to bring her into an embrace.

"Mother," she said. "I am so sorry."

Her voice broke and she began to sob.

My grandmother held on to us both, remaining dry-eyed, but encircling us fiercely so that the breath caught in my lungs.

"You came back," she whispered. "I knew you would."

We half-sat, half-fell together on to a pile of cushions and throws. From a chamber beyond, the voice of Alorath asked who was in the house.

"Oh, Alorath, come now. Come and see." My grandmother was laughing now.

"And have you met your granddaughter?" asked Remula.

"No, but your father met her. You are a miracle," she said, turning to me. "The elfling who should never have lived. Here, alive, in my house."

"I'm so happy to meet you," I said. "It was wrong that we had to spend twenty years apart."

"Yes, it was cruel and wrong," said Remula. "But now we can make up for all those lost years. We need never be parted again."

I joined in the ecstatic embraces, but again I felt uncomfortable. We would be parted. I looked up at Thranduil, who stood in shadow by the front door, apparently oblivious to us. His eyes were on the ceiling, as if he felt removed and disconnected from the family scene. But he was a member of our family.

Alorath, entering the room, joined in the group hug, weeping over his prodigal daughter even more than my grandmother had done.

"My dears, will you come and live here?" asked Alorath. "Will you return to your people?"

"I have a husband," said Remula. "As you know. A human man. So it will depend on how accepting Vinwil is of him. But there is nothing to stop me visiting whenever I like, and nothing to stop Katie from travelling between our realms."

Alorath was the first to acknowledge Thranduil's presence.

"My lord," he said, apparently horrified by his lapse in courtesy. "You have not met my wife – your wife's grandmother. May I present Taneil."

"And so you are King Thranduil," she said, noticing him at last. "Our granddaughter has married more brilliantly than any of us could ever have imagined. We are honoured."

"There is no need," he said. "I am not important."

His words triggered a kind of shift in the space around me. The ground moved beneath my feet at the same time. I looked wildly around.

"Did anyone else feel that?"

Thranduil swooped towards me, catching me by my elbows.

"It is beginning," he said, speaking into my ear from behind me.

My blood seemed to still in my veins. Fear gripped my heart.

"What is?" I whispered, though I think I knew.

"We are being called back. Have courage. Make your farewells."

"I can't," I gasped. "Not now! It's too soon. It's not fair!"

"You do not have long," he said firmly, ignoring my complaints. "Use what time we have, or you will regret it."

My grandparents and my mother were looking at us curiously.

"Is something amiss?" said Alorath.

I nodded wordlessly.

"Katie, you look afraid," said my mother. "What did you say to her?" she demanded of Thranduil. "You have upset her."

"It's not his fault," I managed to say in a strangulated voice. "It's...we have to leave."

"What? Why? So soon? It is surely not necessary," said Remula.

"We have to leave this time," I said. "We have to go back to Thranduil's realm...many ages past..."

"Why now?" cried my grandmother. "You can stay awhile surely. My lord?"

He shook his head.

"The call is not ours to deny," he said. "Once it is made, we must obey it."

"Whose call?" Alorath sounded angry.

"Saruman," said my mother in a defeated voice. "Was it not? Saruman the White."

"But he's..." began Alorath.

"Don't say it!" I shouted. "Don't..." But I wondered why I was stopping him. What if Thranduil heard about the future – wouldn't it mean that we could stay here, with my family, in my cosy world and time, forever?

But then I thought of the consequences for him and his own kingdom. The temptation to sabotage the future was enormous, but I couldn't do it to him. I couldn't let him lose the possibility of ever seeing Legolas again. That was what Vinwil and Ruadan had tried to do to my family. I would be no better than them.

"We have had this time," I said urgently. "We have known one another and you have seen that I didn't die, and that my life here was happy. Mum, will you tell dad to call in on my...on my _other_ parents some time? Let them know I'm well and happy and thinking of them."

Remula nodded, her face stricken.

"And will you be happy?" I said. "Please be happy. Promise me."

"I will be happy," she said, but tears were rolling down her cheeks. "As happy as I can be without you. Oh, I am losing you after all."

"Perhaps there's a way," I said desperately, but I knew time was running out and I needed to hold her and my grandparents until they were torn from me.

Even though I was devastated at the thought of leaving my family, my home, my world, my time behind, the alternative was unthinkable.

I gave my mother a final hug and turned to Thranduil.

"I'm ready," I said, taking him in from the crown of his head to the soles of his boots. If I left him, I would always live with a void at the very centre of me, which was no way to live.

He held out a hand.

"Then come to me," he said.

He drew me close and cupped my tear-wet face in one palm. I looked for sympathy in his eyes, but they were unreadable through the blur in my own.

"Why does it have to be this way?" I whispered. "Will I ever see them again?"

"I cannot promise you that," he said. "But there are many other promises I can make and keep. Some I have done already."

"To love me?" I breathed.

He smiled and stroked my cheek with his thumb.

"We will be happy, Catiel."

"You will take care of her, won't you?" said Alorath, his eyes dark with sorrow.

"You have my solemn word," he said.

And at that, everything jolted again, and then there was a moment of petrifying blackness. I screamed and held on to Thranduil for dear life and then...

I was lying on a cold floor, tangled up in Thranduil, beneath an extremely high-arched ceiling. A stone ceiling. This was no underground realm.

I sat up, rubbing my elbow, which had taken the brunt of the tiled floor. Thranduil had risen immediately to his feet, as if whirling through time and space was a mere cab ride around the corner to him.

We were in some place that looked like a cathedral, albeit a very light cathedral with plentiful plant life and the ripple of fountains coming from somewhere.

Eventually, my head stopped pretending to be a pinball machine and my vision cleared to relative normality. I looked up at Thranduil, who was looking ahead at someone else.

Oh God, that had to be Saruman the White. An old bearded geezer in a long robe sat in a chair a few feet away, his own eyes fixed on Thranduil.

"I take it you are satisfied," said Thranduil with asperity.

"Indeed I am," said Saruman, in a papery ancient-man's voice. "I had thought to leave you longer, but when you said you were not important, I realised that you were ready. There is yet a trace of humility in you."

Thranduil curled his lip.

"I have no more to say to you," he said. "I will have my conveyance prepared and return straight away to Mirkwood."

"Lord Elrond will be sorry to have missed you."

"Will he? Then I will have to disappoint him."

I was sitting by now, curled up at Thranduil's feet, my head just about level with his knee. I preferred being low down under the radar here. If I stood up, I might get in the way of the darts of mutual loathing bouncing between Saruman and Thranduil.

"But you have not introduced me to your friend," said Saruman. 

Damn. He'd noticed me.

Thranduil lent his hand to help me to my feet. 

"This is not my friend," he said. "She is my queen."

"Then you took my advice. I am glad of it. A queen will be good for you."

Thranduil performed the stiffest head tilt imaginable and said, "We are leaving," to me.

"This is Rivendell?" I said, looking around me as he jerked my wrist towards the exit of the vast chamber in which we and Saruman were the only occupants.

"Yes," he said.

"Oh, can't we just...just for a little while..."

I'd always loved reading about Rivendell. And now I was actually there. And I had to leave straight away. 

"We will hear no more about the White Council," Saruman called after us, as a parting shot.

Thranduil whipped around to face him again, his eyes luminous with anger.

"You send me to bring harmony to a kingdom in peril of civil war. I do it. And this makes me unsuitable to sit on the White Council? Well, have it your way, Saruman, but do not expect me to understand your reasoning."

Saruman gave me a keen look at that, which I returned as boldly as I dared.

I knew things about him. And he knew I knew.

"What is your name, my lady?" he asked.

"Catiel," I said, thinking I may as well embrace full Elvishness now.

"Well, Catiel, I think I should warn you that you must never use your future knowledge in this time, or you will risk everlasting banishment from it."

"You mean, I can't..."

"You must forget all that you have read," he said. "Who is to say it will come to pass anyway? You have never read of yourself in those great histories, even though Thranduil is surely mentioned, after all."

"I might forget," I said slowly, holding his eye. "But forgiveness...I don't know about that."

"You think I have done something requiring forgiveness? If not for me, you would never have met."

He was still smiling strangely when Thranduil tugged at my arm and pulled me out of the chamber.

"I can't give explanations," I said to him as he swept with me along elevated walkways and valleys of matchless beauty. "But I think I know why Saruman doesn't want you in the White Council. And it has nothing to do with thinking you wouldn't be any good."

Thranduil stopped for a moment, narrowing his eyes at me.

"In fact, the opposite," I said. I took a deep breath. "I could tell you. Perhaps I should tell you. But if I do..."

He shook his head.

"Do not tell me, Catiel. For then I should lose you, and that cannot be. The White Council must feel the lack of me. You will never have to."

He bent and kissed my lips. A waterfall crashed on the other side of the bridge. The air smelled of lilies. Sunbeams danced around us, lighting us up like golden statues.

Everything was wonderfully new, and yet so poignantly so that I quickly reached the verge of tears once more.

"Why do you weep?" he said, brushing his thumb over my eyelid. "I am taking you to your new home."

A carriage rolled across the bridge towards us, and Thranduil turned to its driver, who bowed low as he jumped off his box.

"Is everything packed and secured?" he asked.

The driver nodded.

"Very well, then. To Mirkwood."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, it's finished! I wrote a novel in 2 months. Perhaps if I set aside a year I could do one of those blockbuster trilogies... Anyway, I want to acknowledge everyone who read, commented and gave kudos on this story. Reading your comments was truly one of the few things that lit up this cold, dark time of year for me. I have loved the friendliness and intelligence of the Thranduilistas. I hope he knows what a high calibre of fan he attracts ;). Pure fabulousness :D
> 
> So thank you again...and watch out for that sequel. I strongly suspect it might coincide with the DVD release of BotFA!


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